


Sucker Punch

by KiratheCarrionite



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Biting, Claiming, Daredevil kicks all the ass, Foggy deserves a medal for patience, Gen, Knotting, M/M, Marking, Matt Murdock and Karen Page are dorky sheepdogs and Foggy is their sheep, Matt Murdock is really just a giant sheepdog, Mpreg, Spoiler tags in the author's notes, Unexpected Bonding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2017-03-16
Packaged: 2018-05-29 13:55:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6378742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiratheCarrionite/pseuds/KiratheCarrionite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Foggy is locking up the office, it’s nine o’clock on a Saturday night, and he’s debating with Karen on whether they should head to the bar first or pick up a pizza beforehand. His phone rings, he sees that it’s Claire, and the bottom of his stomach drops like he just hit the brakes on a fast-moving car. </p>
<p>“Hello?” He answers, “Is he okay?” He doesn’t think he’s ever had a conversation with Claire that didn’t have to do with Matt’s… hobby. </p>
<p>“He…” Claire pauses, and Foggy hears a thumping, then a crash. She inhales, sharply, and Foggy’s already out the door of the building, booking it down the street. “He’s in rut.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there! Thank you for taking a peek at my fic, and I hope you do enjoy it! 
> 
> (Spoiler tags are listed at the end, please feel free to read them first if you have particular content or triggers that you would like to avoid. That being said, I'm a giant fluff-mushball myself, so I hope you're not scared off of what will most likely be pages and pages of people petting each other's hair and telling each other how pretty they are. And also licking.)

Foggy is locking up the office, it’s nine o’clock on a Saturday night, and he’s debating with Karen on whether they should head to the bar first or pick up a pizza beforehand. His phone rings, he sees that it’s Claire, and the bottom of his stomach drops like he just hit the brakes on a fast-moving car.

“Hello?” He answers, “Is he okay?” He doesn’t think he’s ever had a conversation with Claire that didn’t have to do with Matt’s… hobby.

“He…” Claire pauses, and Foggy hears a thumping, then a crash. She inhales, sharply, and Foggy’s already out the door of the building, booking it down the street. “He’s in rut.”

Foggy stops, cold. “ _How_ ?” Matt was an alpha, sure, but a modern one. He went to his yearly checkups, he took his suppressants, he wasn’t due for a rut for another _two years_. Not even Karen’s last scheduled heat had seemed to phase him. Karen stops beside him, clearly catching her breath, a concerned look on her face.

“I wasn’t able to get much out of him, but from what he said, I’m pretty sure he was drugged somehow,” Claire says. Foggy looks up at the sky, the tops of the buildings overhead, and says,

“ _Fuck_.” Everyone knew there were drugs out there that could counteract suppressants for alphas and omegas, and hell, even increase the odds of conception for betas. But the majority of them were illegal, for a reason. Even when used in controlled, clinical environments, they tended to come with a truckload of side-effects, which could be fatal if untreated.

That never stopped the criminal underbelly of course. A couple times a year you’d see news stories where an alpha or an omega got dosed at a party or a bar, the results of which made any decent person sick. People thought it was fun to bullshit about how going off of suppressants gave alphas and omegas twice the stamina and made them twice as hot for you, but Foggy had seen too many pictures in newspapers and on TV of bruised and broken faces, eyes glassy and dull.

Whoever had dosed the Daredevil, they didn’t just want to scare him away. They wanted him hurt and totally humiliated. Foggy takes a deep breath and keeps walking, grateful when Karen keeps pace with him.

“Is it Matt?” She asks, a line drawn between her eyebrows, “Is he okay?”

“Yes,” Foggy says, “I don’t know. He’s in rut. We’re on our way over, Claire, do you need anything?” They’re walking faster again, practically running. Both Matt’s and Foggy’s apartments aren’t all that far from the office, not worth calling a cab or taking the subway over.

There’s a sound on the other end of the phone, like a door opening, then an inhuman sounding snarl. The front of Foggy’s brain freezes, but his body keeps moving. A shuffling sound, more growling, a distant,

‘...not _yours_ …’

And then sweet baby jesus it’s Matt sounding completely alive and pissed off, hallelujah. 

“Foggy,” Matt says. His voice sounds a little off, more like the Daredevil, but somehow even more raw and uncontrolled.

“It’s me, Matt, Karen and I are on our way buddy,” he says, skidding around a corner and nearly sliding into a trash can. Karen manages a little more gracefully behind him, no less determined.

“Come home _now_ ,” Matt says. Then, a little softer but no less growly, “You need to be at home.” Then there’s a thunk right in his ear and another shuffling sound, then more faint snarling from Matt, and even a little from Claire.

Foggy almost rolls his eyes. Stupid alpha instincts. He hears a different cadence of breathing, then it’s Claire speaking again.

“He’s locked me out of the apartment again. He shoved me out the front door about five minutes ago, and won’t let me treat any of his wounds,” Claire says, sounding worried. Foggy swallows. _Wounds_. She continues, a little drier, “He called me ‘poaching alpha scum.’”

Foggy huffs, half a laugh. He’s starting to get a stitch in his side, but he can finally see Matt’s building down the street. Karen has her heels in one hand, and looks to be frantically googling on her phone with the other.

“I think the only reason he’s not out searching for you guys is that I’m sitting right outside his territory,” she says, and then there’s an ominous silence, Foggy had barely realized that background sound had been Matt’s growling. “Not that I need another shitty one-bedroom in Hell’s Kitchen!” She shouts, presumably through the door.

“Well you’re a very attractive and strong young alpha yourself, Claire, you can’t blame him for being cautious,” Foggy jokes, on autopilot as he’s digging through his pockets for his keys, still trying to half-run at the same time. More ominous silence, this time Claire included. Then,

“Jesus, Foggy, don’t say shit like that right now, you know he can hear you.” The sound is a little muffled - Foggy would bet that Claire’s facepalming right now, because that’s what Karen’s doing.

“Sorry,” Foggy says, wincing. It’s not that he’s ever forgotten what Matt can do, in the last few months since he found out, it just… it honestly hasn’t come up that often. And when it does, it somehow seems natural, just part of Matt, who was a quirky enough guy to start out with. His favorite Star Wars character is _Chewbacca_ , for christs-sake. Foggy’s always made allowances for Matt being a little weird.

They’re finally at the front door of Matt’s building, thank god, and Foggy can take a second to actually find his keys. He’s had copies of Matt’s keys since he moved into this place, and vice versa. Foggy is violently grateful that he has them right now, because waiting to be buzzed up would probably give him a heart attack. He finally fumbles it unlocked, and lets himself and Karen in.

They book it up the stairs, Foggy gasping out, “Matt, we’re coming,” into the phone. Matt can probably hear him anyway, could probably hear them coming a couple blocks away. Maybe that will keep Matt calm until they get there. They finally make it up to Matt’s floor, Karen only panting a bit less than Foggy.

Matt is backing Claire down the hallway in the opposite direction, snarling, prowling in his bare feet and uniform pants. His back is presented to them, and as always Foggy swallows to see the old scars and new bruises, blood drying in flaky patches over scratches and deeper cuts. Blood is dripping down one pant leg, but Foggy can’t tell where it’s coming from.

Matt tilts his head and stops moving, the snarls dying back down into that low-grade constant growl. It would almost sound like a purr if Foggy didn’t know any better.

“Get in,” Matt says. He’s still facing away from them, body entirely trained on Claire, who has her hands open and to the sides, looking relatively calm. Foggy looks at Karen, still clutching her bright red heels to her chest, but with that stubborn set to her jaw and that same line between her brows. He touches her elbow and they start sidling along the wall, letting Matt stay between them and Claire as they make their way to the door.

As soon as they’re at the doorway, Matt starts sliding back towards them, stance still leonine and predatory. Claire lets him get to the door before she starts inching her way forwards. Matt snarls and freeze again, locked and battle-ready. He’s trembling just a little bit all over, and Foggy can only imagine what the stress and hormones are doing to him, his brain and body and instincts fighting each other.

Foggy takes a deep breath and risks reaching forward, barely grazing the skin of Matt’s back with his fingertips. Matt goes still, Foggy can’t even tell if he’s breathing.

“Matt,” he whispers, “Matt, you’re hurt, and I don’t know what to do to help you. Please let her in?” Matt doesn’t move. “Matt, I’m worried. I might even start crying any second now, just wait, it’ll be embarrassing for everyone. Please, Matt. For… for me?”

Matt shudders, and his shoulders slump. He huffs, then he finally turns around. Foggy winces. There’s a huge oblong bruise starting at the edge of his left cheekbone and going down to outline the curve of his jaw. There’s another, lighter one over his right eyebrow. There are little scratches on his lower cheeks and jaw, wherever the mask wouldn’t cover, and his bottom lip is busted again.

Foggy’s almost afraid to look any lower, but Karen’s low gasp makes him glance down, to where he can see more bruises blooming along his ribs, and one short, nasty cut up and down his side where the more rigid armoring ends on his uniform. It’s slowly oozing blood, outlining the top line of his pants, dripping down and merging with the red fabric, reappearing as steady drips from his cuff.

Matt still looks like he’s desperately paying attention to the alpha behind him, but also more and more like he’s about to fall over. Foggy takes a step, arms slightly open, and Matt falls forward into him. Foggy catches him around the waist with one arm, other shoulder shoved into Matt’s armpit. He wobbles just a little under the sudden weight, but Karen’s right there to shove herself under Matt’s other armpit.

“To the couch,” Foggy says, he and Karen dragging and Matt stumbling between them. He won’t let them lay him down completely, and in fact he has his face buried in the crook of Foggy’s neck, inhaling and nuzzling. He turns and breathes in the top of Karen’s head, then nips the top of her ear and growls. Karen jumps just a little, eyes wide, looking to Foggy. 

Foggy hasn’t the faintest clue. Claire is standing at the threshold, hand still held open, non-threatening. She edges one foot onto the entry’s faded linoleum, and Matt’s head snaps up. His lips peel back from his teeth, and suddenly he’s vibrating with growls, standing up. He starts pacing back and forth in front of the couch, between Foggy and Karen and the alpha at the front door.

Foggy was roommates with Matt for years of hormonal upheaval, he’s worked with him every day since, he’s familiar with Matt’s scent, okay. He doesn’t have Matt’s super-senses or even the heightened sense of smell that alphas and omegas do, but he caught a whiff of sharp-spicy-musk when he and Karen dragged him over here. And right now, with Matt facing down another alpha in his own territory, Foggy can taste the acrid overlayer of adrenaline and aggression in the flood of pheromones Matt’s putting off. Matt couldn’t be any more clear than if he’d put up a flashing sign with lights and sirens.

Foggy clears his throat, tries to swallow the taste of Matt’s fury off of the back of his tongue. The worst part is that with that taste in his mouth, with Matt so close, here with his _pack_ , he has a brief second of wondering why the fuck the alpha at the door hasn’t left already. Then he closes his eyes and shakes his head, because part of that taste had been Matt’s blood.

“Matt,” he says, “Matt, you have to let her in.”

“No,” Matt snarls.

“Matt, Karen and I can’t do anything, we don’t even have the right supplies for this. You’re bleeding all over the fucking place, you lunatic,” Foggy says, trying to regain his stride. Matt doesn’t even look back, just kicks something on the other side of the coffee table. It’s a duffel bag, already open, full of sealed packs of gauze, other medical supplies Foggy can’t even identify.

“That’s great buddy, but I don’t know what to even do with all that,” Foggy says. 

“You’ve done it before,” Matt growls.

“Yeah, because I had no choice and you were about to _die_ ,” Foggy snaps. “Right now we have a real medical professional willing to help you, if you can just _sit the fuck down_.”

Matt pauses, then turns his head to look at Foggy. He’s got that look on his face, like he’s about to -

“I’m sorry, Foggy, I shouldn’t have brought you into this,” he says, raspy and soft.

\- apologize. For fuck’s sake.

“For fuck’s sake,” Foggy says, rubbing his hand over his face. “Well at least we know your stupid Catholic guilt is enough to get through to you.”

Matt’s eyes never really focus due to his blindness, but his expression looks just the tiniest bit clearer, and he’s actually angled his body a bit more towards the couch, away from Claire.

“Are you and Karen okay,” he says, still too raspy and low for Foggy’s comfort. It’s not really a question.

“Can’t you tell,” Foggy snorts.

“We’re fine, Matt,” Karen says, soft and soothing. Matt nods, a little jerky.

“Good.”

“Great! Now can we let the _trained medical professional_ come and look at you?” Foggy says. He hopes Matt can’t tell that his hands are shaking. Matt sways towards them, but then he stiffens.

“I… can’t. I really can’t,” he says. He rolls his shoulders, then starts pacing again.

“Well then what are we supposed to do!” Foggy shouts. (Pleads.)

“Foggy,” Claire starts, but Matt stops right in front of Foggy and snarls.

“ _Do not talk to him._ ”

“Matt,” Claire says instead, not even thrown off. “Would it be alright if I give Foggy and Karen instructions? If I tell them how to help you? I won’t come in any further than the doorway, but I think we need to get it closed. I’ll stay right here though.”

Matt just growls and continues pacing, like he hasn’t heard her.

“What would we need to do?” Foggy asks. Matt snarls again, still pacing. Foggy ignores him. Foggy can see Karen surreptitiously googling again out of the corner of his eye. Claire doesn’t look at Foggy or Karen, eyes focused on Matt.

“Matt, they’ll need to clean the deep cut on your side and stitch it. They’ll need to clean all the minor wounds on your torso and face, and might need to apply bandages. If they don’t at least close the cut on your side, it’s likely that you’ll bleed out enough to pass out, and then you won’t be able to protect them.”

Matt’s growls get louder, but he’s still just pacing, and he doesn’t interrupt. Foggy takes another deep breath, then slaps his knees.

“Alright. Let’s do it.” He goes to stand up, but Matt does an about face and comes to push his shoulder down. Gently, but irresistible. He goes back to guarding.

“Matt, come on,” Foggy says. Matt’s hands are clenched, and Foggy knows this stubborn piece of crap well enough to know that Matt’s pretty much decided that he’s not going to relax until the other alpha leaves, and that there’s no way he could possibly pass out before that because he’s too stubborn. Determined. Whatever.

“Matt? Please?” Karen tries, looking up at him. Matt just shakes his head and keeps pacing. Is he slowing down? Has he lost too much blood already? Alright, bringing out the big guns.

“Matty? You’re scaring me. You’re hurt, and I’m scared. Can we just let her close the door and tell us what to do?” Foggy pleads. His voice cracks, he hadn’t meant to, but he can’t take this, can’t watch the trail of blood that’s building in Matt’s footsteps.

Matt turns back to Foggy, eyes wide, chest heaving, nostrils flaring. Foggy’s hands are reaching toward Matt, he hadn’t realized.

“Please, Matty. Please.”

Matt turns back to the front door, hands flex, then clench again.

“Fine,” he growls. Then, fast, he reaches under the coffee table and grabs one of his batons. He holds it out. Then, “Karen. Guard.”

Karen's head jerks up, she looks to Foggy. Alright, just a little bit unexpected. Personally he’d expect any red-blooded alpha to want the attractive young omega to nurse their pains away, but he can deal. Matt’s never been the person to let anyone into his personal bubble, Foggy can get why he’d want his best bud to be the one poking him with a sharp needle. And he has technically done this before.

Foggy nods his head at Karen. She places her heels on the ground beside her, then stands and accepts the baton. Matt jerks his head towards the front door, and Karen takes a few steps towards it, in front of them both. She takes up a ready stance, doesn’t look back.

Matt backs himself slowly to the couch, then sits down hard beside Foggy. He’s still completely tensed, but Foggy will take what he can get. Matt drags the bag of supplies to them with one foot.  
“Okay. Where do I start,” Foggy says.


	2. Chapter 2

Foggy can barely convince Matt to relax enough to sit back on the couch, but he manages it using verbal bullying and soft touches, what he calls the Matt Murdock Special. He can’t really see Claire from where he’s at, and he’s pretty sure she can’t see where he’s stitching for shit, but he thinks they’re managing. He’d disinfected the wound and the area around it, and beings this isn’t his first rodeo and Claire is there to help, he’s even a little proud about how well his stitches are coming out. 

Matt hasn’t made any comments since he sat down, just short growls when he thinks Claire’s getting too comfortable, and little hisses when Foggy pulls a little too hard. Soon enough the gash is closed and covered by gauze and tape. Foggy follows Claire’s instructions on cleaning the other cuts and scratches, and finally lets out a breath when most of the blood has been cleaned off of Matt’s face and chest. 

Foggy tosses the last bit of gauze into the plastic bag he’d been using, then gratefully straightens his back and stretches. He rubs the back of his wrist against his forehead, then goes to pull his gloves off and dump them in the bag too. Matt just grunts and sits up more solidly. 

“You can go,” he says, obviously to Claire. Foggy rolls his eyes.

“Hold up there buddy. We still need to go over everything and get some questions answered. Namely - do we know what Matt was drugged with? Do we know what the side effects are?” Foggy addresses this to Matt, trying not to look in Claire’s direction. The last time he’d done that Matt had nearly jumped off the couch growling. 

“I’m not sure,” Claire says - to Matt. “There are a few different variations of suppression nullifiers on the market. That doesn’t even touch the tens of black market versions of each, or the fact that most individual dealers tend to cut their product with something ‘fun’ to make sure the alpha or omega is… compliant.”

Karen’s back stiffens, and Matt’s lips peel back again, showing off his teeth, still pink with blood. Foggy rubs his forehead again. 

“So.. what are we working with. How bad can it be?”

“It could kill him,” Claire says quietly, and suddenly it feels like the temperature in the room dropped twenty degrees.

“How… how likely is that?” Foggy manages. Claire sighs.

“Not more than fifty percent. Most customers don’t want their partner to drop dead in the middle, and all of these versions are based on or started with their legal counterpart. Usually the biggest risks to the alpha or omega are the same for any unsuppressed heat or rut, just more heightened. Most fatalities occur from the fever getting out of control and the… customer not noticing or not caring,” Claire said, calm. Foggy swallows down the sick feeling. “Given how well you’ve been responding, Matt, I’d say it’s safe to say whatever they used wasn’t cut with cocaine, morphine, or any other off-brand substance.”

“That’s good, right?” Foggy says to Matt. “He’ll be back to normal soon?"

“No,” Claire says, implacable. “Even without any additives, he’s still in danger. When alphas and omegas are scheduled to go off their suppressants, it’s a three-week process minimum. Especially for one who’s on long-term ones like Matt. Sudden nullification is usually a last resort, for rare medical conditions where the side effects are less harmful than whatever else is going on. Not to mention, for him to have gone down this fast, it must have been strong. They must have hit him with more than one dose.” She sounds frustrated, and disgusted. 

Matt has been quiet, his face blank. 

“So… what do we do? Does he need more suppressants?” Foggy asks. Claire shakes her head.

“It’s too late. I’m not even sure we could have done anything to begin with. Right now our best option is to let him run out his rut, and hope his fever doesn’t climb above dangerous. If I thought he’d let me, I’d get him to the hospital for observation,” Claire says. 

Matt snarls, that inhuman, shivering sound. Foggy freezes. Everyone is still. Foggy takes a deep breath, Matt’s copper-metal-iron pheromones coating the back of his tongue and making him want to sneeze. He shakes the haze out of his head. 

“Since that clearly isn’t happening, what are our other options? You said most of the fatalities are from the fever spiking? Do we just shove some aspirin down his throat and hope for the best?”

“We could,” Claire says, sounding tired.

“But?” Foggy asks. 

“Honestly, with the way he’s progressing, it’s probably too late. And most fever reducers barely work during rut and heat in regular cases anyway. At best it might just prolong his rut, at worst his body might reject the foreign substances and shut down. Without knowing exactly what they gave him I have no way of knowing,” Claire says.

“So what? We just wait and see if his brain starts cooking and he goes into a coma? What?” Foggy asks, head reeling and at the end of his patience. 

“Don’t be an idiot, Foggy, you know the fastest way to end a rut,” she says, running her hand through her hair. Matt tenses like he’s about to stand up.

“Oh,” Foggy says quietly. He absently puts his hand on Matt’s knee, and he settles. “Right.” 

Mating is the fastest way to end an uncontrolled rut or heat. It doesn’t have to be a full-on bonding, but yeah. Mating is the fastest. 

“In clinical cases mating has been the most effective way to balance out the hormone levels the nullifiers effect. Even then, it’s not a normal rut. They tend to be longer and more demanding, and some only end with embryo implantation or bonding. Or both,” Claire says. 

Foggy looks at the side of Matt’s face, still so blank. 

“I can do it,” Karen says. Matt’s head snaps up. 

“No,” he says. “I won’t let you get hurt.”

“Do you want a surrogate then?” Foggy asks, throwing his hands up. Matt growls, shaking his head. 

“I won’t let anyone get hurt,” he says. 

“Matt, I will tie you to the bed and let a surrogate ride you like a goddamn pony before I let you die,” Foggy says, glaring at Matt. Matt just growls again, shaking his head. “It’s what they’re paid for! They have insurance for it and everything!” 

“I’m not letting any  _ strangers  _ get their filthy  _ scent  _ all over my  _ home _ ,” Matt snarls, jumping to his feet. He paces away, fists clenched. 

“Well then who, Matt? I’m not going to just wait to take your temperature and watch you slip into a coma!” 

“I don’t see you volunteering,” Matt throws over his shoulder, almost to the kitchen counter. 

Foggy stares at him like he’s crazy, which he is. 

“Is that really what you want, Matty? Because we could make that happen, but I’m not sure if you’ve noticed by this point in our long friendship -  I’m not exactly an omega,” Foggy says. A weak joke, but still.

Matt freezes with his back turned to them. He brings one fist up in front of him. 

“No, it’s not what I want, Foggy,” he says. Foggy is this close to murdering Matt himself, because  _ make up your damn mind Murdock _ . “I want you to be safe. I want you both to be safe. I’m barely holding onto control as it is right now. I don’t know what’s going to happen when I let go.” 

“C’mon, buddy, you? You’re a giant fluffy teddy bear. You’re just tense because Claire is here cramping your style. No offense to Claire,” Foggy says. Matt snorts and lets his fist fall down. He relaxes both hands. They’re shaking, and Foggy eyes them in concern. “Look, Matt. What will it take for you to let us take care of you?”

Matt doesn’t answer. 

“What if I ask Claire what a safe temperature would be for you right now? Would you let me take it? And if it’s low enough, I swear, we’ll let you throw a tantrum in your room and wait for this to pass without one more word.”

Matt just sighs. 

“At this point, Matt, we wouldn’t want you to be over 100 fahrenheit. Even 99 degrees is stretching it, to be honest, with how short a time since you’ve been exposed,” Claire volunteers. Matt tilts his head a little to the side, which Foggy is just going to go ahead and take as permission. He rummages in Claire’s bag for a second, and comes up with an oral and an ear thermometer. He rejects the ear one because no way is Matt letting anything near his ears right now, slips one of the plastic sleeves on the oral one, and moves quietly over to Matt.

Matt doesn’t move, just lets Foggy advance. He looks… resigned. His hands are still shaking. Foggy gets close enough to put the thermometer under Matt’s tongue, but honestly? He can already feel the heat pouring off of him. The thermometer beeps, Foggy pulls it out. Oh look at that.

“One hundred point eight,” Foggy says, raising his brows.

“She didn’t say it had to be over a hundred point zero,” Matt mutters.

“Matt, I swear to god, now is not the time to be a lawyer about this.” 

Matt just looks away to the far wall, shoulders slumped. 

“Well Claire, is there anything else we need before we get this party started?” Foggy asks. Matt tenses and straightens up again. 

“Nothing more than the usual rut. I’ll run out, grab some frozen food and a pallet of water bottles, leave them outside the door when I get back. You guys have any preference for food?” Claire asks. 

“Burritos,” Foggy says, the same time Matt says, “Pizza.” 

“Um, anything,” Karen says.

“Pizza is Foggy’s favorite,” Matt says, final. 

“I know it is. I also know the only thing I could trick you into eating during finals was a microwave burrito shoved right under your nose,” Foggy says, crossing his arms. 

“I’ll get both,” Claire says. Foggy can’t really see her behind Matt and Karen, but it sounds like she’s putting on her jacket. “And I’ll leave my bag here for now. In case you need it.”

Matt flinches.

“For you, dummy,” Foggy says. 

“Thank you, Claire,” Karen says. 

“I’ll see you guys in a bit.” 

* * *

 

Foggy waits until he can’t hear her anymore, opens his mouth to speak, then has to wait again when Matt puts his hand over it. Matt’s head is tilted towards something. Probably waiting for Claire to leave the building, the street, maybe the state. Finally he lets it fall. 

“So were you objecting to Karen just to make a point, or do you really want to take a shot at this with a beta?” Foggy asks. He doesn’t say ‘with me,’ because honestly he thinks this point needs to be made. And he doesn’t really like putting Karen on the spot like this, but at this point they really need to get this show on the road. Matt’s hands are still shaking, shoulders down, pupils starting to dilate.

Matt does that thing where it really does seem like he’s looking at Foggy, really looking, then he turns around and walks all the way into his bedroom. 

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Foggy asks, turning to Karen. Karen just shrugs. Matt closes his bedroom door. 

Foggy throws his arms up in the air and groans. 

“What do we do?” Karen asks. She’s still holding Daredevil’s baton in one hand. Foggy rubs his forehead.

“You can’t stay in there forever, Matt,” he says. No answer, just the sound of something hitting the connecting wall, hard. Foggy jerks in surprise, then stomps towards the door, he’s had it up to here, Matt’s just going to have to put his big boy pants on. He’s stopped by growling on the other side of the door. 

Karen glances between the door and Foggy, a little uncertain. 

“Fine!” Foggy says, “Fine! We’ll just leave you here! Would that make you happy?” The growling stops. Foggy marches over to the couch, where he’d thrown his suit jacket down earlier. He picks it up and throws it over one shoulder. He walks towards the front door, past the bedroom. Karen seems caught. “We’ll just go and see if  _ Claire  _ wants anything, maybe there’s something I can do to assist  _ her _ ."

He hears the bedroom door open, but he doesn’t get a chance after that. He’s shoved up against the wall, Matt’s teeth in his throat, muscled leg jammed up between his. There’s that low growl again, juddering up the back of his neck, making his hair stand on end. He stays perfectly still. 

“What do you want, Matt,” he whispers. Matt’s got him braced up so only his toes are touching the floor, jaw locked so that Foggy’s head is forced to the side, bared to him. Matt inhales heavily through his nose. He pulls back, the spot on Foggy’s neck too cold now, throbbing. 

“I want you,” he snarls. 

Foggy turns his head, meets Matt’s challenging look. It looks a bit like Matt’s daring him, daring him to say no - to say yes. Then Matt’s face tilts forward, just, just a bit, his mouth open just a little, inhaling, like he’s trying to swallow Foggy’s scent. Heat is radiating out of Matt, branding Foggy’s thighs. Foggy breathes it in, the cloud of spice-electric-steel surrounding them. He looks down the shivering line of Matt’s chest, then back up. Matt’s pupils are totally blown, and he’s still got that look on his face. Telling him to back down.

  
“Okay, Matty. Okay,” he says. He deliberately relaxes into Matt’s chest, lets him support his weight even more. “You can have me.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it took longer to get to the fun bits at the end than I though it would. Because Matthew Michael Murdock never could let a good thing happen to him without putting up a fight first. *pets Foggy's precious woobie head*


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright everybody, please note the updated rating and tags. And please do let me know if you see anything else that should be tagged.

There’s a beat where Foggy can only feel his own heartbeat throbbing, in his chest, wrists and neck, working its way lower. Pounding on his skin from the inside. Then Matt’s teeth are bared again, this time in what almost looks like victory. An alpha in his element. He leans in and inhales right against Foggy’s neck.

“Um. Do you want me to leave,” Karen asks. She doesn’t sound traumatized, thank god, but at least a little uncomfortable. The sound of her voice finally allows Foggy to focus beyond the sight of Matt’s face and chest and - uh. These alpha pheromones must be starting to get to him. Matt leans back, even sets his leg down and lets Foggy slide down against the wall to his normal height. 

“No,” Matt says, sounding calmer. “I need you to stand guard.

Foggy does a double-take, looking from Karen to Matt and back. 

“Oh,” Karen says, blinking. 

“Uh,” Foggy says. 

Matt steps back from Foggy and ignores them both. He walks back into his bedroom, but he leaves his door open this time. Foggy stays up against the wall, sharing a wide-eyed look with Karen. She’s holding the one baton, standing in her bare feet, skirt, and loose blouse. 

Matt comes back out carrying a bundle of black. He walks unerringly over to the couch and reaches under it. He produces the other baton, then turns back to Karen. He pauses, and finally seems to consider what he’s doing. 

“That is,” he says, his shoulders starting to round inward, “if you’ll accept.”

Karen seems frozen for a second, eyes darting between Matt and Foggy. Foggy just shrugs mutely, hands open. He doesn’t know what to say, for once. Karen’s gaze lands on Matt and she scrutinizes his face. Something, something makes her relax. Her shoulders drop, her neck straightens, and her feet square off with her shoulders. There’s a quirk in side of her mouth. She holds her left hand out.

“I’d be honored,” she says. Matt straightens. He places the second baton in her outstretched hand. 

_ “Thank you,” _ Matt says. He shakes out his bundle, which turns out to be the top from his backup suit. It looks like a black long-sleeve shirt at first, but then the light catches the darker matte coated ridges of armor. 

Oh. That’s… that’s kind of sweet, actually. In a weird, old-fashioned way. The last time an alpha was expected to seriously asked someone to Guard their mating was probably... back in the fifties? And even longer since it was done as a matter of course. The only time Foggy’s ever seen it was in the last Pride and Prejudice movie his sisters made him watch, where Bingley asked Mr. Darcy to do it. And he’s not sure that counts.

It’s kind of cute that Matt thinks he’ll be so distracted by mating that he won’t be able to defend his mate from threats or challenges to his claim. ...Unless you consider that it’s Matt, so he might be going with the even older tradition of a second being there to guard the potential mate from an overzealous alpha. Which is not so cute. But still oddly sweet. 

It’s even sweeter that he’s asking Karen to do it. It’s definitely not traditional for an omega to perform as second. Matt is handing her his metaphorical sword-and-shield to hold and use. He’s asking her to Guard. Her, not Claire. Not anyone else. 

Foggy grins dopily at his two dorks. His pack.  _ Pack _ . Another old-fashioned, sentimental tradition.

Karen takes the uniform top from Matt. It’s big enough, and the arms loose enough, she’s able to to pull it on without putting down the batons. Her head pops out of the neck hole and her hands come out of the sleeves with the batons held tight against her forearms. 

There’s a burst of cinnamon-steel. Matt’s hands are steady, his body’s still. Foggy’s head connects with the wall behind him. His nose is - burning. The taste is coating his tongue, it’s in the back of his throat. His whole body pulses, but not to his own time. It’s to his. To Matt’s. Foggy’s heart beats fast and out of sync. 

He huffs. Yeeaaah. There’s the good stuff. Alpha pheromones in action. Alpha-in-rut pheromones. Mega alpha pheromones. Super alpha. Super… duper alpha. Yeah. 

Matt is touching him. Touching the spot on his neck where the pulsing seems to be centered. Circling around the edges of the bite mark. Fuck. 

“Foggy,” Matt says, rough. Like it’s the only word he knows. Foggy grins. He feels drunk, but focused. Focused on Matt. 

“That’s my name. Don’t wear it out,” he says. Matt’s mouth twitches. His fingertips move down into the collar of Foggy’s shirt, then around to drift over his collarbone. The first two buttons are already done, and Matt catches the edge of Foggy’s undershirt. Foggy realizes that he’s hard. Well damn. Now the alpha will know he’s easy. Foggy snickers. 

“Foggy,” Matt says again. He leans in like he’s being pulled, like he’s falling slow. He noses along Foggy’s neck again, and the tickling heat of his breath makes Foggy lean into him in turn. The action presses Matt’s lips against that spot, that perfect spot, his lips slightly parted. Matt’s tongue flicks out. Foggy’s sweating, he wonders if Matt can taste that Foggy’s body is starting to react to him and produce its own less-powerful pheromones and hormones. 

Foggy’s shirt is halfway off before he even realizes Matt’s been unbuttoning it. Matt steps so that he can push it down Foggy’s shoulders and off his arms. Foggy has a brief second of clarity where he remembers that there aren’t any curtains on the windows, and that he’s not actually an exhibitionist. He shakes his head and whines.

“Shh,” Matt says, soothing his hands down Foggy’s arms. “Foggy?” Foggy shakes his head, trying to clear it again, but he can smell Matt, so close, touching him, making it difficult. His head is already starting to feel a little light and floaty. Foggy clears his throat and tries.

“Bedroom?” He says, “Too… open.” Matt nods, a line digging between his brows.

“You need to be safe,” he says, seriously. Well, more that Foggy doesn’t want the neighbors seeing his ass in the air, but sure, he’ll take that.

“Yeah,” Foggy says. Matt nods again and carefully grasps Foggy’s elbow. He leads him through the open doorway, head scanning side to side. He walks Foggy to the bed and gently presses his shoulders until Foggy sits on the edge. Foggy gets a little distracted when Matt inhales against the top of his head, Matt’s muscled chest so close to his face with that scent pouring off of him and going straight to his lizard brain. Matt gives a little grumble in the back of his throat and takes a step back.

“I need to secure the den,” Matt says, and Foggy groans. He flops back on the bed and covers his face with his hands. “Foggy?”

“Yep. That’s fine,” Foggy says from behind his hands. He valiantly ignores his erection and Matt’s scent filling the room. Matt’s clearly the kind of alpha that goes paranoid during rut, probably not helped by the fact that people actually are out to get him. Whatever Matt needs to do so that he can get back here and get taken care of.

Matt starts in the bedroom, going into every corner, making sure the blackout curtains are pulled over the blinds and the small window is locked, then moves quickly back out to the living room and kitchen. It’s a little bit easier to think once he leaves the room. Foggy blinks up at the ceiling. 

He’s in Matt’s bed. If he’s being completely honest, he’s had a couple of fantasies that start like this. Okay, more than a couple. Five basic scenarios, tops. He’s been quietly in love with Matt for long enough that he’s had time to come up with some really good ones. It blows that he’s only here because Matt’s too paranoid and scent-sensitive to hire a surrogate, but he’s just enough of a masochist to take what he can get. And he’ll always do whatever it takes to protect Matt.

Well. Anyway. As excited as his body is to have the attention of a virile young alpha, he’s never been the kind of beta that was able to get wet right out the gate. He sits up and hunts around for where Matt stashes his lube. He finds it in the drawer of the bedside table, next to three very sharp-looking throwing knives on some sort of magnet strip. Foggy just shakes his head and closes the drawer.

He finishes stripping and returns to the bed. It smells like Matt, and there’s enough residual pheromones in the air to make him want to rub himself all over the bed until he comes. He restrains himself and starts working one finger into himself. He breathes deeply, adding another. He considers the generous bulge that had tightened Matt’s uniform pants, then adds a whole lot more lube and works on getting three in. His eyes are half-closed, his other hand stroking himself, and - oh.

He blinks down his body to where his hand disappears between his thighs. That’s new. He prods again, and his mouth drops open at the spike of pleasure. Oh, fuck. He rubs around the magical spot and shivers. Alright, his body is  _ really  _ on board with this mating. So on board that his intervaginal opening has decided to make its first appearance ever. The area around it feels swollen and tight, throbbing. It feels  _ amazing _ . Better than the first time he found his prostate. 

It still hasn’t opened, so there’s still every probability that Foggy won’t be producing his own slick for this experience. And when he prods further up, it doesn’t feel any different than usual, so he doesn’t think his cervix is going to drop and close off his waste canal. Which is completely fine with him, he’s fine to let that possibility stay in the realm of health class lectures. He rubs his fingers around the tightly furled opening again and groans. It’s throbbing even more, in time with his dick, and feels slightly more swollen. Goddamn. 

The bedroom door shuts, and Foggy jumps, hitting that spot again by accident. His back lifts up from the bed, then he collapses back, panting. Matt is panting too, wide eyed, his hands flexing open and closed. 

“Foggy,” he says, his voice rubbing a rough line right up Foggy’s spine. Matt’s scent is crowding the room again, filling it up so it’s the only thing left to breathe. “Foggy.”

“Matt,” Foggy says, reaching towards him with the hand that isn’t sticky with lube. Matt breathes in deeply, nostrils flaring, and his posture shifts. He suddenly seems more predatory, alert and focused on Foggy. He reaches for the front of his pants and undoes the button, the zipper, then pushes everything down and off. Foggy lets his head drop back down to the bedspread and hysterically thinks that it wouldn’t have been enough prep if he’d shoved his whole hand up there. 

Matt climbs on the bed and moves up Foggy’s body, graceful and deliberate. He leans down and lets his forehead rest against Foggy’s. Foggy’s heart clenches as they breathe together. Matt nuzzles down the side of his face and settles on the bite mark again, huffing over it and setting his teeth over it in a tease. 

Foggy whines and ducks his head so his forehead is pressed into meat of Matt’s shoulder. Matt nips Foggy’s neck and rumbles a pleased sound. Matt reaches down between them and wraps his hand around Foggy’s wrist, drawing it up and out, forearm brushing against Foggy’s erection. There’s a wet, filthy sound as Foggy’s fingers leave his entrance. He shudders, the sensation so much more intense now that Matt is touching him, directing his movements. 

Matt settles more deeply between Foggy’s thighs, still nosing along the length of Foggy’s neck. 

“Foggy,” he rasps, “Foggy, can I.” It almost feels too quiet in the room, just the two of them panting. Matt doesn’t move, and Foggy realizes he’s actually waiting for some kind of response. There’s a fine trembling in his shoulders, but he hasn’t moved a muscle anywhere else.

“Matt,” Foggy says, desperate. His nose burning with cinnamon-lightning, his brain is jello, his whole body feels like every cell is tuned to Matt’s pulsing heat, his dick and entrance are throbbing, and  _ Matt isn’t moving _ . “Matty, please. Please, I. Need. I need you, please.”

There’s another huff of hot air against his neck, then his neck  _ hurts _ , Matt’s teeth are clamped tight against his pulse, and he must have broken the skin because it feels hotter and wetter than it should. He’s distracted a moment later by the feeling of Matt’s fingertips spreading him, and his hips leave the bed as Matt  _ shoves  _ into him. Foggy’s eyes roll back and his mouth is open, panting too hard, not enough air, oh fuck.

Matt releases his neck and rears up, the movement only settling him deeper, rubbing thick and obscene inside Foggy. He can’t breathe. Matt’s breath hitches, and Foggy forces himself to focus. Matt’s eyes are wide, there’s a pink smear on the side of his mouth, and he looks like he’s having some sort of revelation. Matt’s body hitches, up, like he’s somehow trying to get closer to Foggy than already being inside of him. Foggy makes an involuntary sound halfway between a squeak and a hiccup, hands shooting to grab Matt’s sides, because,

“Fuckfuckfuck,” Foggy gasps. “Do that again.” Matt does, and Foggy feels that magic, magic spot light up and throb, and the solid pressure of Matt’s dick is too perfect. He moves again, and again, and Foggy’s head is thrown back and he’s whining and panting, and he can feel every inch of Matt against him and inside him, hot and hard.

Matt picks up speed and force, shoving tightly against Foggy’s ass, pressing Foggy’s erection between them. His hands are tight on Foggy’s hips, and jesus christ Foggy’s body is on fire, the throbbing is hard and thick where Matt is fucking into him, that spot feels even better than where Matt’s stomach is pressing against his dick, and Foggy needs to come so badly he could scream. It’s just out of reach, and he doesn’t know why he can’t, what’s wrong. Fuck, fuck. He turns his head and digs his frustration into Matt’s skin with his teeth, getting into the muscle of Matt’s chest and not letting go.

Matt makes a choked sound and his thrusts start coming shorter and harder, like he’s trying to bury himself into Foggy. Foggy feels the expansion of Matt’s knot, swelling just beyond Foggy’s limits, and that last shove just hurts, but then Matt is seated home and oh. There it is. The pressure against that spot doubled, tripled, it feels like something shifts, and then his whole body is clenching and he curls up into Matt with the force of his orgasm. 

  
Foggy’s whole body goes rubbery and loose and he has a few moments of total and complete bliss where every inch of him feels amazing and wonderful. Then he blinks, and his eyes decide they don’t want to open again.  


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So work has been wrecking me the last couple of weeks and leaving me with little to no brain power when I get home, after too many hours away from said home. Which is so very frustrating because I just keep thinking about this story all the time. Thank you all for sticking with me! I'm supposed to be sleeping now but I just couldn't wait to bang out the rest of this chapter. And now I'm off to flop into bed.

Foggy wakes up to Matt rearranging them on their sides. He has Foggy’s left leg over his hip and wraps his arm around Foggy’s middle. Foggy blinks. 

“Uh,” he says, intelligent. There’s sweat trickling down his back and he just feels so  _ hot _ . It’s difficult to get all the way through a thought. Matt’s nose brushes along his cheekbone, then down. He licks at a tickle on Foggy’s neck, which expands into a full-out throbbing. Foggy knows the bite should hurt, but  _ fuck _ . His breath hitches and he loses focus. 

Matt inhales and drags his tongue along Foggy’s neck again, shifting his hips forward at the same time. Foggy jerks, and clenches all over, over Matt’s  _ knot _ , still inside him and throbbing in time with Foggy’s pulse and the bite on his neck. Foggy inhales fast through his mouth, because it’s almost too much. Matt’s knot is thick and heavy, Matt’s arm is keeping him in place, and he keeps rocking his hips, just, just like that. 

Everything between Foggy’s toes and neck is throbbing, but especially that one single centerpoint in contact with Matt’s dick, pulsing. Foggy lets his head drift on the pillow as his eyes close. He grips Matt’s hip and loses time. 

__

It takes… a while for Matt’s knot to go down. Foggy’s not sure. He’s a little preoccupied. 

When Foggy’s right leg has gone past numb to some new and strange tingling territory, Matt starts to pull back. Foggy pretty much just lets him do whatever. He’s out of energy and feels just fucking high on his and Matt’s combined scent. 

Matt manages to sit up, makes a questioning sound at Foggy. Foggy just groans and lets gravity take him so that he’s face down on bed. He’s going back to sleep. Matt huffs, then reaches across him and pulls on the blanket. He burritos Foggy in and then shoves himself off of the bed. 

Foggy cracks one eye to admire. He rarely gets an uninterrupted look at Matt’s body. His shoulders and chest are muscled, there’s a livid bite mark the size of Foggy’s teeth right over Matt’s heart, and his cock is hanging red and used between his thighs. Foggy can feel all points pulsing in time again, just a little. But this rut’s not going to be done with them for a while, so, 

“Water,” he croaks out. Matt tilts his head towards Foggy and nods. He leans back over the bed and nuzzles past the flop of Foggy’s hair to inhale over his mark. Foggy lets his eyes close. 

___

Matt comes back with a bottle of water and a personal pizza. Foggy could cry. 

“I love you,” he says to the pizza. Matt laughs and steals the last bite, catching the edge of Foggy’s thumb. Foggy’s eyes land on Matt’s teeth, a small bruise that’s starting to darken on his jaw, and he leans forward and catches Matt’s lips with his. He stays there for a second, breathing in, then Matt is licking in and wrapping a hand around the back of Foggy’s head, groaning. 

Foggy reciprocates, and they spend a minute trading hot breaths and tasting each other, then Matt’s hand shifts so that it’s pressing against his bite mark. Foggy feels himself sort of.. Melt. Everything feels a bit dreamy, and he lets Matt press himself flush against Foggy’s front, his dick a hard line in the crook between Foggy’s hip and dick. 

Foggy presses back, bringing his leg back over Matt’s hip and grabbing Matt’s waist so he can pull himself even closer. They rock like that for a bit, then Foggy’s on his back again with his legs splayed, Matt driving home into him. 

Foggy can feel every single inch of Matt’s dick stretching him, everything is still sensitive from their last round. Matt moves just slightly, and it’s like the friction has a straight line right up Foggy’s spine, jacking up his dick and making the bite on his neck scream. He feels his toes curl and his back arch, and he’s panting so hard. 

Matt is on his elbows, crouched over Foggy and panting just as hard. He shifts again and fuck, like a jolt, everything’s set to pulsing again. Foggy reaches up to grab the pillow behind his head and isn’t really capable of any other movement, his legs are jelly and Matt is just grinding up into him slow and dirty. His knot is barely inflated but Foggy can feel it just catching the rim of his hole, that extra stretch making him feel the drag of Matt’s dick even more. 

It’s all right on the edge of too much and Foggy feels like he might actually cry, his eyes are watering, or he might scream. His toes clench again and his calves flex, the movement rolling up through his hips, making him meet Matt’s thrust hard. One of Matt’s hands come down to hold Foggy’s hip, but he’s not pressing him still, just getting a better grip as he shifts his stance. He rears up, pulling out almost entirely. He drags Foggy’s hips with him, god they’re not even touching the bed. 

Matt slams back in, pull back, again, suddenly fast and harder, rough and barely restrained. His head falls back, exposing his throat, and the white gauze and tape catch Foggy’s eye, and jesus shit Matt hits that spot inside Foggy straight on. Foggy reflexively grabs his dick and just holds on as he comes, everything clenching down and not letting go. Matt fucks him through it, head snapping forward and body curling, his thrusts shorter and faster. 

Foggy’s orgasm just keeps rolling as he feels Matt’s knot getting thicker and harder inside of him, pressing into that spot, feeling like a bruise but just so fucking good. Matt’s hips are just jerking now, and god the smell of his come is thick in the air, mixing with their pheromones, cinnamon-lightning-ozone and sweat. 

Foggy doesn’t black out this time but he’s basically useless as Matt comes down from the high of tying. Matt heaves, gulping air, his eyes half mast and his chin almost touching his chest. After a moment he starts to inch his knees back, then works them into the same position as before. Every shift makes Matt’s knot tug at Foggy’s rim from the inside. Foggy decides that going limp is the better part of valor. He feels like he’s resettling into his skin again. 

Matt starts stroking Foggy’s back, and he drifts off. 

__

Foggy wakes up again and has to pee so bad it hurts. He pushes at the arm covering him, which only makes it tighten. He growls and kicks back with his heel. Matt yelps and jerks back. Foggy looks back to see Matt looking dazed, hair sticking up on one side and the other side pressed flat. Foggy snorts.

“Bathroom,” he rasps. His throat is sore. Matt blinks, then nods. He ends up having to help Foggy off of the bed because ugh, Foggy’s legs are absolutely useless. It doesn’t make sense because so far all he’s done is lay there, but all it takes is one particularly hard stumble for Matt to start herding him like a particularly dedicated sheepdog. He burritos Foggy in the comforter before he lets him into the bathroom, which is nice, but Foggy’s really just too hot and he’s going to have to drop it to pee anyway. But points for effort, Murdock. 

The bathroom has two doors, one connecting it to the bedroom and the other to the living room. Matt deposits Foggy on the edge of the bathtub and then exits through the living room door, closing it behind him. He’d put on pants before wrapping up Foggy, so at least Karen isn’t getting an unexpected eyeful. 

Foggy lets the blanket fall behind him and then grabs the counter, levering himself onto the toilet. There’s a rush of fluid as he releases his clenched muscles, but the majority of Matt’s come is already decorating the bed and blanket. Foggy settles in and lets his forehead slump onto the arm that’s resting against the counter. 

He waits, but nothing else comes. He frowns, and pushes, but nothing. There’s an odd sense of pressure, but none of the expected need to take a shit. He’d rather not have to deal with it, but with all the action his ass has gotten today, it’s got to happen sooner or later. Right?

Foggy frowns and then reaches between his thighs to press at his hole. It stings when he touches it, and pressing past his rim is shockingly easy. Expected given the size of Matt’s dick and the enthusiasm they’d gone at it earlier. Unexpected is finding that his intervaginal opening is no longer a barely-there recession of his internal wall. It’s definitely there, a swollen mostly-closed ring that pulses and gushes out slick. And it feels really fucking good.

Foggy swallows and tries to focus. He reaches further, and as he presses along he notices that the thin wall there feels more engorged, stiffer almost. He can’t reach any further back without effectively trying to fist himself, but he’s pretty sure he knows what this means. 

Either he’s going crazy, or his cervix dropped. Foggy gazes down at his slick covered hand, too wrung out to be shocked. He honestly never thought this would ever happen to him. For him. Must be some crazy strong drugs Matt’s on, to make his body run the whole dog-and-pony show. 

He has a brief, nonsensical thought that he’s not on birth control, but then reels himself in. The chances of conception are so insignificant for betas that even with his hormones and body throwing open the gates, the risk is almost nil. Of course, that doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy the benefits. He grins, pushes himself up, washes his hands, and makes it back to the bed. 

Matt finds him face-down on the bed, moaning and fingering himself, rubbing over his engorged opening over and over. He hears Matt freeze, the thump of what is probably a water bottle hitting the ground, and then he’s on him. 

Matt barely opens his pants before he’s pulling Foggy’s hands away, yanking his hips up higher, and then pressing the head of his cock against Foggy’s hole. He’s making a low constant sound, not quite a growl, more a sustained rumble. He pushes in, and god it’s still a stretch, the friction so perfect and sweet. His internal opening is throbbing and pulsing, and Foggy’s thighs are already covered with his own slick. 

Matt sets a hard rhythm, jerking Foggy’s hips back to meet him, just fucking riding him and making that sound, filling the air with his scent again, sharp musk and spice. Foggy gasps and grips the pillow, just letting him pull him back and forth. The throbbing is building in him, twisting tighter, making him clench harder every time Matt lunges into him. He whimpers as Matt pounds that spot perfectly, the angle absolutely perfect, driving home into it and making him pant. Matt’s thrusts get shorter and faster, just pummeling that bruised, pulsing spot. Foggy’s calves are tight, his fists clenched, and oh fuck fuck shit. Oh sweet jesus. 

Foggy’s mouth drops open and he gasps some sound out as Matt fucks past that ring, into, into oh shit, brand new territory. Even more stretch and push, untried and over sensitive nerve endings lighting up as they make contact with Matt’s dick. Foggy remembers to breathe in as his hips jerk and he comes onto the bed beneath him. Matt rides him through it, and all Foggy can think is  _ he’s coming inside me _ , as Matt’s knot inflates and starts pumping come into the place that was literally made for it. Foggy whimpers and and an aftershock hits him so hard it feels like he’s coming again. 

Matt finally stills and pants for breath, Foggy heaving air and trying to put his brain back together again. He’s relieved when Matt rearranges them and he can sink into oblivion. 

___

The next four days are more of the same, with variations for sexual creativity on Matt’s part. Foggy spends less energy on thinking and more on keeping up with Matt. They sleep in short bursts, but not for more than a few hours at a time. One of them will wake up, there’ll be a burst of pheromones, rinse and repeat. 

Matt is driven, running hot the entire time. Foggy starts running high as well, even the light sheet is too much. He feels less and less like eating, and then only when Matt forces him to. Matt only eats after Foggy does. Foggy doesn’t see Karen at all, but catches the sound of the odd movement in the living room as he’s drifting off or waking up . 

On the fifth day, the rut breaks. 


	5. Chapter 5

When Foggy wakes up, his mouth is dry and his head is pounding. It doesn’t feel so much like a hangover, but then again it kind of does. His whole body aches. There are parts of his body he didn’t even know could ache. His neck and ass hurt the worst, and he’s almost afraid to look in the mirror.

There’s a rustling movement, letting him know what woke him up. Matt’s arm pulls against his waist, drawing them closer together under the blanket. And hey, they’re under a blanket. Foggy doesn’t even feel like he’s drowning in sweat and heat. 

What he does feel is sticky. Sticky all over. And… itchy in certain places. Foggy’s sure the itch between his legs is dried and flaking come, but that doesn’t explain the itchy spot on his temple - he decides not to think about it. But a shower is now the top priority. 

Foggy starts hoisting himself up on one arm, but Matt’s arm constricts even tighter around him, stopping him. 

“Matt,” he says. His voice sounds raspy and worn out and his throat feels the same. No response. He gives up and falls back into the bed, rolling so he’s facing Matt. Looking at Matt’s face, soft eyelashes and smooth brow, he can’t really bring himself to leave Matt to wake up alone in an empty bed. “Hey. Matty,” he says softly, reaching out to run a finger around the curve of his ear, to the flat of his cheekbone. 

Matt’s eyes flutter open, and Foggy suddenly realizes two things. One - he just had marathon, drug-induced sex with his best friend. Two - they’re both completely naked still, and he’s touching Matt’s face. Foggy is instantly embarrassed and jerks his hand back. What was he thinking? Like Matt’s not going to be traumatized enough by being drugged and going into rut against his will - he doesn’t need Foggy gushing unwanted feelings all over him too. 

“Hey,” Matt says, rough. Matt’s eyes don’t focus on him, but he tilts his head and blinks sleepily. Foggy doesn’t know what to do with his hand now but decides he can’t just leave it hovering in mid-air between them. He brings his arm down so it’s resting against his hip. Basically trapping Matt’s arm against his side in the process. Foggy is just going to roll off the bed, under it, and die now okay. 

“Hey,” Foggy says, again. Ugh, so dumb. He’s not a fourteen-year-old girl, this shouldn’t be this hard. Get it together, Nelson. “Uh. I was going to go take a shower.” 

“Oh. Um. Yeah,” Matt says, clearly not entirely awake. He blinks again and leans his head up, and his hair is doing that thing again where half is pasted flat to his head and the other half is a riot of hair going in wildly different directions. Foggy, helplessly, finds it adorable. 

Matt retracts his arm and Foggy takes the opportunity to roll back over and sit up. He runs his hands over his face - definitely not thinking about what that itchy spot is - and groans. Sitting up just makes all the aches worse. He feels a tentative hand on his back. 

“You okay Foggy? I, uh,” Matt clears his throat and Foggy can just imagine his wincing, guilty face, “I didn’t hurt you?”

“Christ, Matt. I’m pretty sure I hurt me,” Foggy says. He senses the confusion in Matt’s silence. “I’m not actually that flexible, shockingly enough. But I tend to forget that in the… the heat of the moment. If I forgot that, it probably wasn’t your fault.”

“Probably,” Matt says, still sounding guilty. Foggy looks over his shoulder just to check, and of course there’s that little line between Matt’s brows and the earnest widening of his eyes. Matt Murdock Guilt Face No. 2. Foggy just sighs and doesn’t argue. You can’t argue with No. 2. He decides to put his time to better use in getting up and into the shower. 

He braces himself, then makes it up to sitting without a single whimper. He’s pretty sure Matt can’t hear facial expressions, which is for the better right now. And since Matt can’t hear him being naked either, he decides to forgo covering up with the come-stained blanket. 

Still, something must reflect in his scent, because he gets through the bathroom door and turns to close it, only to find that he’s acquired a shadow. Matt's facial expression has progressed to Murdock Guilt Face No. 3, so Foggy sighs again and doesn’t try to keep him out. No. 3 features the slight stubborn tilt of Matt’s chin, and Foggy knows to save his chips for later in the game. 

Foggy turns the shower on, takes a piss, then sticks a hand in the shower to see if it’s warmed up. Matt is studiously ‘brushing his teeth,’ which Foggy knows is bullshit because Matt keeps hesitating and subtly tilting his head. Probably listening to make sure he didn’t break something on or in Foggy when they were - when they were in the middle of rut. 

Matt spits, and Foggy gets in the shower. There’s a shuffle of feet. Foggy waits a beat, then,

“I know you’re still there, Murdock. I can see your outline,” Foggy says. 

“...I was going to shave?” Matt asks. Foggy rolls his eyes. This might be the secret reason why Daredevil wears a mask when he’s fighting crime. For a lawyer, Matt’s actually pretty bad at lying to people directly. 

“Matt. I’m fine. I’m not going to fall in the shower,” Foggy says, exasperated. 

Matt stays stubbornly silent. Foggy can’t see, but he’s probably progressed to Murdock Guilt Face No. 4 - the ‘I will fix this and you can’t stop me, because I know it’s my fault.’ Ugh. 

“Matt, the longer we argue about this, the longer I’ll be in here, statistically increasing the likelihood that I will fall in the shower.”

Nothing. Fine. 

“Matt, I just need some space. Okay? You can trust me to tell you if I’m really hurt,” he says quietly. Matt inhales, and Foggy feels bad almost immediately. But not bad enough to tell him to stay. He knows Matt’s probably still riding the hormone train, but for the love of god he needs to have this freak out in private. Or at least the illusion of privacy, to finally let himself think - 

“Okay, Foggy,” Matt says, and shuts the door. Foggy releases a breath. 

\- oh god i just fucked my best friend whom i’ve been in love with for approximately a hundred years oh fuck.

Foggy shudders, then takes a deep breath. Okay. Okay. This isn’t the way he ever imagined this would go, with Matt being forced into it and then radiating guilt, but it’s not all bad, right? They’re still friends. Matt didn’t throw him out of bed in disgust this morning. It’ll be awkward for a little while, but it can’t be worse than that time Matt came back to their dorm room to find Foggy going down on Jenny Stevens, and Foggy was so drunk and surprised he jerked up, groaned, and ended up vomiting into the trashcan by Matt’s desk. They were still friends after that, and no one threw up this time. They might even laugh about this some day. 

Foggy scrubs over his neck with the washcloth, and his knees nearly buckle. His dick and hole throb with the sudden sense-memory of Matt thrusting hard into him, biting down - Foggy gasps. 

Or maybe they won’t. But they’ll still be friends. All Foggy has to do is keep his cool and everything will go back to normal.  
___

 

Foggy wanders out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel to find the bedroom empty. There are what appear to be brand-new sweats and a t-shirt, with tags still on, sitting on the bed. There’s an unopened pack of boxer briefs next to them. The shirt and sweats have that baking-soda smell of scent dampeners, so Claire must have gotten them. Foggy owes her a cake.

After he’s finished dressing, he cracks the bedroom door to take a peek out. He half-expects Matt to be right on the other side, to chivvy him back in and away from dangerous things such as sunlight and couches. 

Instead he sees Matt standing in his little kitchen, cooking at the stove. No Karen in sight. 

“I um, I sent Karen home. And thanked her,” Matt says, “Hope that’s alright.”

“Oh!” Foggy says. Well, at least that’s one awkward conversation he can avoid today. “That’s good.”

“I’ve got scrambled eggs,” Matt says, a bit too cheerfully. 

“Sounds good,” Foggy says. And because his mama raised him with manners, “Thank you.”

Foggy dithers in the bedroom doorway, then decides to just act like this is another morning after staying to finish going over case notes, or one too many beers, or having to find another apartment for the third time in a year. 

So he goes to the cabinet that holds Matt’s five plates, then elbows Matt in the side so he’ll sidle far enough away from the fridge so Foggy can open it. He knows there’ll be a fresh carton of Tropicana in there, because there always is when Foggy stays over. Matt’s one of those weirdos that still drinks apple juice as their primary juice of choice. Who does that?

They end up on Matt’s couch listening to an audiobook, like you do when one half of your duo is blind and the other half just likes media he can make snarky comments about. Foggy is still pretty exhausted, especially now that he has food in him. Matt had pressed a Gatorade in his hand when he took Foggy’s plate away, and Foggy ends up cradling it as his eyes start to slip closed. He starts doing what his mom calls the Nelson Slide, where he’s going to eventually end up laying on his side after twenty to thirty minutes at a 90 degree angle. 

And just like every time before, the Slide starts to happen in Matt’s direction. And Foggy spends some time balancing on Matt’s bony shoulder, then finally gives up the ghost and slides down Matt’s chest and ends up with his ear on the top of Matt’s thigh. And Matt still puts his hand on Foggy’s arm and lets it rest there, warm and safe. 

So, y’know. Maybe everything’s going to be okay.   
___

They spend the rest of that day and the next sleeping and ‘resettling into their normal hormone zones.’ Which is apparently a thing you need to do after a megacycle like that. So that’s what they do. Foggy makes an executive decision to bring the pallet of Gatorade bottles into Matt’s bedroom, then they sleep for about twenty four hours straight. When they wake up they finish off the last frozen personal pizza and a box of frozen burritos. 

Then they go back to work. 

And… it’s okay. Karen gives them both searching glances, then starts ticking off the grueling list of appointments they missed while they were ‘on required medical leave.’ They start working on those clients, then get back on the never ending task of finding ones that can pay them actual money. 

They get beers as a team, Foggy avoids being left alone with Karen’s probing expression and neglects to call Marci back when she deigns to leave a message. But no one asks him what his Feelings are about the Incident, so Foggy pats himself on the back. It seems like his Playing It Cool routine is actually working out. Score one for the home team.   
___

So of course Foggy gets a sick about a month later. He’s read about this. You finally relax from a heightened state of stress, your body stops producing as much adrenaline, and whammo. You get the flu. 

And fuck does this one suck. He starts feeling queasy, his body aches in weird places, and the rhubarb pie Mrs. Costanza brought for Nelson & Murdock is really throwing him off. But he doesn’t have a fever yet, so he decides to power through. If he takes enough Emergen-C maybe it’ll just pass right through?

No dice. He’s late to the office three days in a row, and Karen finally asks if he’s doing okay. 

“I’m fine, Karen,” he says, eyeing the last piece of evil rhubarb on the counter. “Just a little bit under the weather.” 

“Okay,” Karen says, not looking entirely convinced. “But let me know if you need anything, okay? And if you need the rest of the day off, just take it. You’ll be better sooner if you have some time to rest.” 

“Yes, Mom,” Foggy says. Karen elbows him and he grins at her, heading to his office. Matt’s already at his desk, pretending to read a case file so he can listen in. His nostrils keep flaring subtly, like he’s trying to discern whether or not Foggy’s got ebola or something. He’s already asked Foggy if he feels fine about five times in the last two days, and seems to sense that Foggy’s about at his limit. Matt won’t be able to go back on his normal suppressants for another two weeks at least, and it’s ramped up his normal worrywart tendencies into full-on Mother Hen mode.

Foggy pulls a packet of crackers out of his bag as he gets to his desk, and tries to ignore the smell of sour rhubarb as he gets settled in. He’s got a 9 o’clock with Mrs. Mendoza, so it’s fine that he’s a few minutes late. She brings her two kids with her to their appointments and is pregnant with her third, so she tends to run five to ten minutes late herself. 

Three minutes later Foggy’s in the hallway bathroom hacking up the two crackers and half bottle of Gatorade he’s had for breakfast. He hopes nobody walks in, because it is abundantly apparent what he’s doing here right now. Not exactly the trustworthy image he hopes to present for Nelson & Murdock. 

By the time he walks back into their office, Mrs. Mendoza is seated with Matt in his office, and Karen is giving him a Capital C Concerned look. He laughs ruefully and tells her,

“Yeah. I think I’m going to head home for the day.” 

He starts packing all of his stuff back into his bag, picking a couple more files to try to work through when he’s at home. He stops to grab a cup of water from the kitchenette before he goes, because he can just hear Matt’s voice telling him that 'dehydration is the biggest risk of the flu.' He finishes it up as Matt is saying goodbye to Mrs. Mendoza, throwing the dixie cup away and making a mental note to rag Matt about still being able to take trash out even though he’s blind. 

When he walks back out to the main office, Matt is going over rearranging appointments with Karen. He slaps Matt’s shoulder on the way by.

“I’ll try to be back tomorrow. You know us Nelsons - we’ve got an iron gut,” he says. He turns to grin at Matt and Karen, but - Matt’s face is off. It looks like he’s gone white, and his entire upper body is honed in on Foggy like a pointer dog. Even Karen looks a little wide-eyed.

“What? Something on my face?” he asks. It takes an uncomfortable long period before Karen blinks and Matt turns the rest of the way towards Foggy, his eyes inscrutable behind his glasses. 

“Foggy,” Matt says, voice breaking halfway through. Foggy takes an involuntary half step back, not even sure why. “Foggy, I need to ask you something.”

“What?” Foggy asks. Karen’s nose is tilted up, in obvious scenting mode.

“Are. Are you..” Matt says.

“...pregnant?” Karen finishes, eyes still a touch too wide. 

Foggy can’t help it. He starts laughing.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who is still reading this, and thank you to any new readers who are giving this a read!
> 
> And a tremendous thank you for every single comment, kudos, bookmark, and hit. I don't really have the time to reply to every comment nowadays, but know that I appreciate all of you and you make my heart grow three sizes every time I read one. Mwah!

Matt and Karen don’t laugh. 

 

...They _really_ aren’t laughing. 

 

“Foggy,” Matt says, raising a hand towards him. Karen’s eyes are comically wide. 

 

“Look. Guys. That’s pretty much impossible,” Foggy says. 

 

“But still possible,” Karen says quietly. Her hands are clasped in front of her, and Matt still has his hand out like he’s forgotten it's there. Foggy can’t see his eyes behind his red glasses, but the way his mouth is gaping slightly is really contributing to the general aura of shock. 

 

They really believe it. They really believe he’s pregnant.

 

Matt inhales deeply and his mouth finally closes. Karen’s nose has just been flaring off and on, because she’s about ten times more subtle than Matt. 

 

Foggy doesn’t have the scenting abilities of an alpha or an omega - most betas don’t. So he’s not sure what they’re getting from his scent, how convincing it must be. But he knows that, scientifically, it is crazy impossible for betas to conceive. 

 

“You’ve been scenting a little off lately, but you said you were getting sick,” Karen says, still quiet. Like she’s being… careful. Gentle. “But with Mrs. Mendoza here today. It’s. Kind of obvious.”

 

“Foggy,” Matt just says, voice sounding off. Foggy stares at him, trying to figure out how he’s feeling. Shocked, obviously, but - disappointed? Happy? About to freak out?

 

Foggy’s not sure he wants to know.

 

“Okay. Clearly you’re both attributing lingering omega pheromones to my coming down with the flu,” Foggy says. Matt’s brows crease in the middle, and Karen’s chin tilts up in matching stubborn response. “But, if it will make you happy, I will get a pregnancy test on my way home. Along with Gatorade and saltines, because I clearly. Have. The flu.”

 

Matt opens his mouth again, but Foggy’s already picking up his bag and waving goodbye to them.

 

“I’m sure I’ll have a hilarious picture for you both later of a negative test. Don’t burn the place down while I’m gone,” he says, and walks out. 

_______

 

Foggy powers right out of the office, down the street and into the nearest bodega. He is going to buy the first beta pregnancy test he sees, so he can prove to his friends how crazy they’re being, then he’s going to hydrate the crap out of himself and sleep this flu off. 

 

The bodega doesn’t have any beta pregnancy tests. Just omega ones. Of course. Fine. He’ll just go to another one. 

 

Four convenience stores later, he finally finds a beta pregnancy test. He buys five of them, because he figures sending a picture of all five of them being negative  _ might _ just be conclusive enough to get Matt and Karen off his back. 

 

It’s when he’s pulling his pants down to pee on a stick in a Walgreens bathroom that he finally has to acknowledge that he’s a bit more invested in their theory than he may have admitted previously. 

 

But they’re wrong, so no harm in getting this cleared up as soon as possible, right? Right.

 

Foggy sets the timer on his phone, sets the test on top of the toilet paper dispenser (with the cap on, he’s not an animal), and waits.

 

Checks the timer on his phone. Forty seconds have elapsed. Awesome.

 

The queasiness he’s been having  _ has  _ been suspiciously limited to a certain period of the day. 

 

No. It’s still impossible. 

 

But he loves rhubarb pie. And he has the Nelson iron gut. The last time he got the flu he barely threw up. He had a crazy high fever and was achy as hell, but he didn’t really get nauseous past the first day.

 

Which doesn’t mean anything either. This could just be a different strain of flu. Isn’t that what happens? There’s a new flu strain every year?

 

Right. Foggy checks the timer again. 

 

One minute elapsed. For shit’s sake, why can’t this thing just be done already, it’s not a goddamn microwave burrito. Foggy just wants to know if he’s pregnant!

 

One minute, thirty seconds down. Aw man. Foggy rubs his hand over his face. He sighs, hears it echo in the empty bathroom. He stares at the stick.

 

Does… does he  _ want  _ to be pregnant? Foggy looks down at his stomach, still just the same amount of pudge as ever. He’s always known that he wants kids, but that was always for someday. Some day far in the future when he and Matt had finally scraped together enough business for them to maybe actually pay themselves and Karen, and when he’d finally found…

 

Well. When he’d finally found someone who wasn’t Matt. 

 

Foggy’s chest constricts at the thought of Matt, that stupid goofy smile he gets when Foggy tells an awesome (terrible) joke, the way he helped Mrs. Costanza into her jacket the other day, the way he’s good and kind and wonderful no matter how he punishes himself. His stupid floofy hair and that stupid stupid smile. Foggy’s heart is beating a little faster, just thinking about it, about that floofy hair on top of a tiny head, a smaller version of the smile beaming up. Foggy inhales sharply.

 

Aw. Fuck. Bad enough he’s in love with Matt. He wants to have Matt’s baby. 

 

The alarm on his phone goes off.

______

 

Foggy walks into his apartment, sets the bag from Walgreens down on his kitchen counter, and gets a cup down from the cabinet next to the fridge. He fills it up from the tap and downs the whole thing.

 

Thirty minutes later, he’s staring at five matching pregnancy tests lined up on his coffee table. He walks away from them, then walks back. Yep.

 

Foggy heroically restrains himself from screaming into one of the couch pillows. He does cover his face with both hands though. 

 

He’s cool. He’s fine. He’s totally cool.

 

He’s also pregnant. With his best friend’s baby. Who also happens to be his business partner. Who also happens to be a vigilante with a specific sense of style. 

 

He’s pregnant with Daredevil’s baby.

 

Oh jeez. His mom is going to have  _ kittens _ . And she doesn’t even know about the Daredevil thing!

 

Oh god, she’s probably going give him the safe sex talk again. 

 

There is a 100% chance that the phrase ‘but that horse has already left the barn’ will be used.

 

Marcie’s going to ask him if he wants any of the Plan B she has lying around.

 

Karen… Karen will probably be uncomfortably supportive. 

 

And Matt. How the fuck is he going to tell Matt?

 

…what is he going to tell Matt?

 

Foggy looks at the tests again, all lined up. What is he going to tell Matt? That he’s pregnant?

 

Or… or that he had an appointment today, and that he’s… not? Foggy stares at the tests. What does he even want?

 

Kids weren’t supposed to happen this early. Foggy was supposed to find someone else, someone stable and boring and who definitely did not know how to catch a knife out of midair. He was supposed to fall in love with someone normal, and  _ then _ kids would happen, and it would all be… perfectly fine.

 

Foggy blinks at the tests. Then he snorts. Right. That was going to happen. Probably right around April 1st in the year of Never. Even if he weren’t in love with Matt, he loves what they do too much to truly stop - helping the helpless, stopping the villainous with a well-placed subpoena. And to be perfectly, one hundred percent honest, it’s not Matt’s fault that he’s trouble on two legs wrapped in a cherub’s smile.

 

It’s Foggy’s for pretending that he would’ve been so much happier if his life were ‘normal.’ 

 

And now that he’s sitting here faced with a literal one-in-a-million chance… maybe now’s the time to admit that he wouldn’t have been. Maybe now’s the time to think about what it is he thinks will really make him happy. 

 

And he thinks… he thinks he just wants someone to love. Someone he has permission to love completely, wholeheartedly, unselfishly, and without reservation. He wants to be able to look into that person’s eyes and know that he has no greater life ambition than to love them, and that he’s okay with that.

 

He doesn’t want to have this baby because it would be Matt’s. He wants to have this baby because it would be  _ his _ , Franklin P. Nelson’s one-in-a-million, his kid. His baby.

 

Foggy wants to have this baby.

_____

 

Wait a second. This means he has to stop drinking, doesn’t it?

  
Well how else is he supposed to work up the courage to talk to Matt about this?


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It lives! *lightning strike in the background*
> 
> I'm on vacation this week, so have a chapter!

Foggy ends up buying and then eating two entire pints of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream. Because there is no way he’s facing this monumental a realization without _some_ kind of artificial dopamine inducer, and if Cherry Garcia is all he’s getting he’s going to fucking do it.

He looks down into the bottom of the second empty carton. 

Fuck it. He puts his jacket and shoes back on. Two more pints certainly aren’t going to hurt. 

When he steps onto the sidewalk the smell of cool city air hits him first, then the brisk chill. He zips his cheap windbreaker up and shrugs into it a little more. Fall has always been his favorite season. 

Does this mean that he’s going to have a summer baby? Huh.

Foggy picks up a box of spaghetti and a can of sauce on his way over to the freezer section. Now that he has a live-in tenant he should probably start being more conscious of actually eating real food. He briefly considers finding some kind of vegetable to make it even healthier, but eh. Baby steps.

Baby steps. He is going to have a baby, which will someday get big enough to take actual steps. By itself.

He ends up buying three more Ben & Jerry’s instead of just the two he’d planned.

He’s walking back towards his place when he hears a muffled shriek. Before he’s really thought about it, he’s turned toward the sound, coming down an alley, walking toward it. There’s a sharp turn about twenty feet ahead, and it’s dark, so he can’t tell…

“Hello?” he calls.

Another sound, which could be another muffled cry, or a small disgruntled cat. He takes another few steps, then stops himself. When did become the type of person who ran _toward_ the danger? He blames Matt. But _he’s_ not the leather-fetished asskicker, and now he has a… a mini-Nelson to think about.

He takes a step back, a half turn, then gets barrelled over by a woman running down the alley. He catches himself against a brick wall, scraping his hand, losing his bag in the process. He bends down to grab it and hears the sound of feet running toward him again, amplified by the walls of the alley.

He stands up abruptly just in time to see a wide-eyed young man take an arrow to the knee. The man goes down with a yell, face first into a pile of full trash bags. Foggy takes another quick step back, then finally thinks to look up.

Oh shit. It’s Hawkeye.

It’s difficult to make out facial features in the gloom, but the high-powered bow-and-arrow combo, the general body shape, and oh yeah, the _costume_ all make Foggy pretty sure he knows what he’s looking at. And what he’s looking at is a superhero scurrying down a fire escape and trussing up a common criminal. Hawkeye finishes tightening his final zip-tie, and Foggy finally regains control of his brain.

“Hi. Um, thanks. I loved you in the Battle for New York,” Foggy says, failing to regain control of his _mouth_ in time. He wants to smack himself in the forehead, but one hand is full and the other is starting to sting like a son of a gun. Hawkeye just smirks at him.

“Hi. You’re welcome, citizen of New York. Your thanks are all I need,” he says, with a sardonic tone. It makes Foggy wonder if there’s a reason Hawkeye doesn’t really speak at the press conferences. Like, maybe he’s not allowed to. For snark reasons. Foggy can get behind that. Hawkeye starts to turn towards the back of the alley. 

“I also have Cherry Garcia,” Foggy says, once again failing at brain-to-mouth filter. Hawkeye pauses and cants his head back towards Foggy, like an interested cat. “Which I’d be happy to share with a fellow do-gooder.”

“Do-gooder?” Hawkeye snorts. He turns back and looks Foggy up and down, his wrinkled suit pants, cheap button-up halfway undone, and covering a generous stomach.

“Defense attorney,” Foggy says, shrugging. He is admittedly not in crimefighter shape. “And I mostly work for peanuts.”

Hawkeye just considers him, a weird half-smirk on his face.

“And casserole,” Foggy acknowledges.

“And Ben & Jerry’s?” Hawkeye says, full-out smirk now.

“Oh no, I bought this for myself. I’m having a quarter-life crisis about my impending fatherhood,” Foggy says. Hawkeye just whistles.

“Well -” Hawkeye starts, but there’s suddenly a sound of sirens coming towards them. Foggy jumps and cringes, already dreading having to explain his association to _another_ known vigilante to Brent. He hesitates over whether to go back to the street or try to make a discreet disappearance. He hears a clang.

Hawkey’s already pulled down the ladder to the fire escape and is starting up. He looks back at Foggy with his eyebrows raised.

“Well? What are you waiting for?” 

Foggy scurries over, the sound of the siren urging him on.

“Wait,” Hawkeye says, his expression hardening, eyes narrowed. Foggy stops. “You can only come up if you’re serious about the Cherry Garcia.”

“I also have Phish Food and Americone Dream,” Foggy says.

Hawkeye grins.

* * *

 

“So he’s all, ‘Are you pregnant?’ and I say ‘Hahaha of course not.’ And he had this - this look on his face. Like. I don’t even know what. And now of course I’m actually pregnant,” Foggy says, stabbing his plastic spoon into his nearly-empty container. He gazes moodily down at the alley below them and kicks the edge of the roof they’re sitting on.

“Bro,” Hawkeye says, shaking his head. Foggy waits to see if anything comes after that, but Hawkeye just shoves another mountain of ice cream into his mouth.

“So now I have no idea how to tell him,” Foggy finishes.

“How about… with words?” Hawkeye says. Foggy just looks at him, and he snorts. “Yeah, those never work out for me either.”

Foggy sighs and takes another bite of ice cream.

“You could always do it without words,” Hawkeye offers. Foggy raises his brows at him. “You know, one of those cutsie surprise things. Where you put like a dinner roll on a plate and put it in your oven, you invite him over, open the oven door, and bam.”

Foggy gives him another look, and Hawkeye grins.

“Bun in the oven,” he says, waggling his eyebrows. Foggy groans and covers his face with his hand. “Or you hold two bags of ice next to your stomach and...” Hawkeye pauses dramatically, Foggy refuses to uncover his face.

“...Ice Ice Baby,” Hawkeye finishes with obvious relish. Foggy can’t help but laugh. He removes his hand from his face so he can take another bite of ice cream.

“Right. That’s definitely how I’m going to inform my best friend of his upcoming fatherhood,” Foggy says, shaking his head. “How do you know about those things anyway?" 

“Hey! I have cable! And The Internet,” Hawkeye says. The way he says ‘The Internet,’ it’s obviously capitalized. He’s also triumphantly pointing his spoon at Foggy.

“Right, right,” Foggy says, laughing. They both take another bite of ice cream, and Foggy goes back to staring down at the alley. He really doesn’t want to go home yet. If he goes home, that means going back to being an adult. That means figuring out a way to tell Matt. He stabs his spoon into the carton again, which is sadly almost empty.

“So why do you want to avoid the police anyway?” Hawkeye asks, casual. “Most do-gooders don’t climb fire escapes to get away from them.”

“Um,” Foggy says, body freezing, eyes wide open. He forces himself to think through the sudden spike of adrenaline, “I wasn’t avoiding them.”

Good one, Foggy. Hawkeye gives him the side-eye.

“I wanted to spend time with you?” He smiles winsomely at Hawkeye. Hawkeye just rolls his eyes. He shrugs.

“Whatever. You don’t seem like the criminal type, so if you don’t want to tell me the reason -” he says.

Right as the reason drops onto the roof behind them.

And growls.

Foggy’s head whips back, and he sees Daredevil crouched with batons to either side, the glow of the streetlamps below diffusing across the red leather, increasing the overall demonic effect.

Daredevil growls again and stands slowly. Foggy opens his mouth to say something, but his view is suddenly blocked by purple and black, as another of the night’s defenders gets between him and the devil in red.

Foggy sighs and starts getting to his feet.

“How’s it hanging Daredevil?” Hawkeye says, far too casual for a man who has a high-powered bow aimed dead-center at the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. 

“Step. Aside,” Daredevil says, the dark snarl in his voice even more pronounced.

“Hmmm. How about no,” Hawkeye says. Foggy dusts his hands of roof dirt, wincing a little at the sting from his scraped hand. Daredevil growls again. “This guy the reason you’re avoiding the police, Sad Potato?”

“Sad Potato?!” Foggy asks, indignant.

“We’re not exactly on first-name basis,” Hawkeye says sardonically.

Oh. Well that’s fair. Mostly.

“I object to the ‘Sad’ moniker, but I’ll take ‘Potato’ if I have to,” Foggy says. He takes a step to the side, trying to see Daredevil again, but Hawkeye steps with him so that he’s still between them. Daredevil snarls. 

“Get away from him.”

“It’s okay Hawkeye, seriously.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Hawkeye says, still too calm.

“Partly? But not the way you think,” Foggy says, trying to edge back the other way. He doesn’t want Matt to lose it all over one of the Avengers. Hawkeye lets him get halfway out from behind him. “It’s okay M-Daredevil.” He spreads his hands, hopefully indicating that he still has all limbs attached ad that there’s nothing to freak out about.

“He hurt you. You’re bleeding,” Daredevil says, nostrils flaring. He takes a step forward, and Hawkeye adjusts his stance.

“Guys. As much as I feel like the prettiest omega at the ball right now, I think we all need to calm down. I scraped my hand earlier, but only because Hawkeye was stopping a criminal mid-crime. Daredevil is just being a jerk because he’s… concerned. We’re all cool. Can we all put our weapons down now? Look, I even left my spoon over there,” Foggy says, gesturing to the grocery bag behind him.

Daredevil inhales deeply and tilts his head, then slowly lowers his batons until they’re pointing at the ground. Hawkeye seems to relax slightly, hesitantly lowering his bow as well. Foggy takes the opportunity to step fully out from behind Hawkeye, a half-step towards Daredevil.

“You’re alright,” Daredevil says, sounding rough. Foggy feels kind of terrible all of a sudden - Matt’s been so hormonal lately, it’s probably killing him not to be able to check Foggy over. He’s gotten really serious about ~~pack~~ _team_ safety and health since the Incident.

“I’m okay,” Foggy says gently, taking another step.

“I went to check on you, but you weren’t there. Just your blood in an alley, then trailing over the rooftops,” Daredevil says quietly, taking a step towards Foggy.

“I’m okay,” Foggy repeats, quieter.

“Ooooh, shiiiit,” Hawkeye says. Foggy looks back at him, slightly irritated. “Is _this_ the baby daddy?”

Hawkeye’s eyes are wide, and he releases the arrow from his bow entirely. Foggy hears a thump behind him, and he turns again.

Daredevil is only holding one baton, the other rolling gently on the roof. His mouth is slack.

“Baby daddy?” he asks.

“So,” Foggy says, nervous. He rubs his hands on his pants, because they’re suddenly sweating for some reason. “Uh. Congrats. You were right.”

Daredevil doesn’t say anything.

“Which I know is a huge shock! Because I’m always right! But um, it had to happen sometime, right?” Foggy babbles, smile feeling uncertain on his face. “So, yeah, uh -”

“Let’s go home,” Daredevil says, abruptly.

“Okay,” Foggy says, blinking.

“And talk.”

  
Shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *puts chin in hand*
> 
> But when two Human Disasters meet on a rooftop, does it even make a sound?
> 
> *ponders*


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you all, and I smoosh your comments and kudos' close to my heart every day.

Hawkeye skedaddles so quickly that Foggy wonders if he’s allergic to Feelings. And maybe that’s a vigilante thing, because Matt’s face is tight and unmoving, like he’s about to face torture or something. He doesn’t say anything, just watches as Foggy collects his grocery bag and shadows him to the closest fire escape.

Foggy and Hawkeye had only gone a couple buildings over when they were evading the police, so when he gets to the ground he’s actually not that far off from is apartment. He glances up when he gets to the sidewalk, in time to see a glimpse of red on the rooftop above.

He doesn’t see Daredevil again on his way back to his apartment, but he has no doubt that he’s being followed. 

* * *

Foggy closes his front door, engages all the locks, and puts his food away. He doesn’t hear his bedroom window open, but he’s still not surprised when he turns around to see Daredevil standing in the doorway from his room.

Foggy just stares at him, not sure what to say.  The helmet comes off, and Daredevil becomes Matt again. His wide hazel eyes come into view, and the torture expression gets transformed into Murdock Guilt Face No. 6.

“I’m sorry,” Foggy blurts out. That at least knocks some of the Guilt Face away to be replaced with confusion.

“For what?” Matt asks. He’s holding the Daredevil helmet in front of him, standing still. His dark hair is pressed almost flat from wearing it, with bits here and there starting to spring back. Foggy has a brief flash of a small head with a tuft of dark hair, then controls himself.

“For worrying you,” Foggy says. That one at least is true. “For uh. Not believing you, I guess.” That one’s about three quarters true, it’s still statistically impossible for betas to conceive. But the disbelief was part of a larger freakout. A freakout fueled by Foggy’s stupid inability to let go of his so-clearly unrequited love. So.

“Oh. Well. Thank you,” Matt says. His face is a strange, polite mask. Foggy hates seeing that look directed at him. That look is for when Matt tells strangers on the street that yes, he really is blind, and no, he doesn’t have a guide dog.

“Not for getting to meet Hawkeye, that was awesome,” Foggy continues.

Matt has the most amazing stink face. His eyes narrow, his lips thin out, and overall he looks like he bit into a lemon. Foggy laughs.

“You dork. I was bound to meet another vigilante sometime, this is New York. Daredevil’s still my favorite though, I promise,” Foggy says, too fond. Matt’s expression softens, and he ducks his head down at the helmet, fiddling with it. “Now go sit on the couch, you’re making me nervous. I need to wash my hand and grab a bandaid.”

Matt hesitates, then moves towards the couch while Foggy ducks into the bathroom. Foggy’s quick about it, hissing at the sting of soap and neosporin, not wanting to leave Matt alone for too long. He’s still not surprised to see some distinct brooding when he gets back to the living area.

He forgot about the pregnancy tests though.

Matt’s perched on the edge of the couch, trailing his fingertips over the top of them, left hand flat on the coffee table. His head turns when Foggy steps out, going from brooding to pensive.

Foggy wishes he could step back into the bathroom, lock the door. He still doesn’t know what to say. The weight of his decision, the decision he made without Matt, without his - his partner in crime, is sitting like hot wet lead in his stomach.

Matt clears his throat.

“Can I… look at your hand?” Matt asks.

Foggy feels a sudden rush of relief. Maybe… maybe Matt doesn’t know what to say either. Maybe it’s just as hard to figure out how to ask if you knocked up your best friend. Maybe they can figure this thing out together.

“Yeah, of course,” he says, moving over to the couch. He sits down, halfway between Matt and the other armrest. He turns and extends his left hand. Matt grasps it with his left, fingers running over and around the band aid. Foggy’s always a little shocked at how warm Matt’s hands are. The knuckle scrapes and tiny scars make a whole new kind of sense now, of course, but it still doesn’t make any sense how such a bony person can put off this much heat.

Matt’s nose flares, and his lips thin just the tiniest bit. The skin of Foggy’s hand feels like it’s tingling. Matt opens his mouth, then closes it.

“They’re positive,” Foggy says, looking at their hands. He clears his throat and looks up. “They’re, uh, all positive.”

“Oh,” Matt says. He doesn’t look shocked, necessarily, but his eyes widen a fraction. He opens his mouth again. Closes it again.

“I -” Foggy starts.

“Have you -” Matt says. They both stop. Foggy looks at Matt, waiting. Matt, well, doesn’t look at Foggy, but his eyebrows come down and he purses his lips. Foggy’s just about to open his mouth again when Matt continues.

“Have you - decided? If you’re going to. To terminate the - the pregnancy?” Matt says. His hand doesn’t tighten on Foggy’s. He’s so absolutely still that it makes Foggy a little sad. Like maybe he’s afraid to even ask anything of Foggy.

And he’s not exactly shocked by the direction of Matt’s question. He’s complained about their monetary and client situation often enough, jokingly and not, and about how he can’t wait to get their business really up and running. He’s always been dismissive when people have asked when he’s going to settle down.

So no, not shocked. And he’s grateful that Matt asked, instead of assuming. That he’s waiting to hear Foggy’s answer, without offering opinion. But it’s still so hard to even open his mouth.

“I’m keeping. It,” Foggy says to their hands. He looks back up at Matt’s face, feeling like he should know what he looks like when Foggy tells him this. Happy? Sad?

“Oh,” Matt says. He’s wearing an entirely indescribable new Guilt Face.

“Yeah,” Foggy says. “So.”

“I’m sorry,” Matt says. His face looks even more pinched and tired.

“Matt -” Foggy sighs.

“I’m sorry,” Matt says again, ignoring him. “Me being Daredevil keeps, keeps changing your life. I’m sorry you keep getting dragged into it. _I_ keep dragging you into it. I should have listened to you and gotten a surrogate. Or rode it out. I’m - I’m so, so sorry, Foggy.”

Foggy considers rolling his eyes. But then Matt looks almost wrecked, his eyes turning slightly pink and bright, the corners of his mouth pulled down.

“Matt,” Foggy says, turning his hand over so he can squeeze Matt’s. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t _make_ me do anything. I could have walked out without saying anything. I could have called a surrogate service. Hell, I could have called an ambulance and told them you got roughed up at a bar or something. I deliberately provoked you into doing what I thought was best, what made the most sense. If anything I dragged _myself_ into this one. And I think I owe you an apology. So, _I’m_ sorry.”

“No, Foggy,” Matt’s saying, shaking his hand. He squeezes Foggy’s hand hard. “No, I was being unreasonable and you were trying to keep Daredevil a secret. You were trying to keep _my_ secret and -”

“But you had other options, Matt, and if you - If you regret this, if I screwed up our friendship because I made a decision while you were under the influence of who knows what drugs, that’s on me, and -”

“Foggy, we both know I’m the one responsible for the whole situation in the first place, it’s my responsibility, so -”

“And I decided to keep the baby without talking to you, granted it’s my body and I’ll do what I want with it, but you’re still my friend and it still affects you, so I think my friend record is pretty shitty lately to be honest -”

“I think we should get married,” Matt finishes.

Foggy’s mouth opens and closes.

“What?” Foggy says. His mind is blank and white. He stares at Matt.

“I mean. Do you. Want to get married. Will you marry me?” Matt says. His face, which flipped through multiple variations of guilt during their mutual tirades, is now determined.

“But… Why?” Is all Foggy can think to say.

“Because I’m responsible,” Matt says.

And Foggy knows, from using his Matt-to-reasonable-adult translator over the years, that he means both ‘ _I’m responsible for this situation and I need to take care of it’_ and _‘I’m a responsible person and this is what a responsible person would do.’_ Which is just so… Matt.

“Buddy. Come on.” Foggy says.

“Foggy,” Matt says.

“I… appreciate the offer. I know you mean well. And I’m not opposed to your support with the offspring. Not at all,” Foggy says. “But…”

_But I want you to be asking me this from one knee with a gold band in your hand._

_But I want you to tell me you love me and say this is the happiest day of your life._

_But I don’t want to feel like a tour of duty you signed up for, because you’re_ responsible.

Foggy shakes his head.

“But it’s the 21st century, and we don’t need to be married to successfully raise a kid. We were friends before, Matt, we’re still friends, and we can keep being best friends. This doesn’t have to change that.”

Matt’s silent for a moment, another brand-new look on his face. Foggy’s gotten so used to being able to read Matt like a book, he doesn’t know how to feel about losing his literacy like this.

“I mean. If you want to help raise the kid. You don’t have to. I shouldn’t assume,” Foggy says.

“ _No_ ,” Matt interrupts, suddenly loud. “I mean. Yes. I want to help raise the baby. I… respect your decision. And… you’re right. This doesn’t have to change our friendship.”

“Right,” Foggy says. He doesn’t feel disappointed that Matt agreed. That’s just indigestion from all the Ben & Jerry’s.

“But I want to help any way I can. I want to really be… be a father,” Matt says. He looks slightly stunned as he says ‘father.’

“Right,” Foggy says again. “That sounds... great.”

“Yeah. It’s gonna be. It’s gonna be great,” Matt says. He’s smiling slightly, like maybe he believes it and isn’t just placating Foggy.

“Yeah. Awesome,” Foggy says.

They’re both quiet. Foggy’s not sure what you’re supposed to do after you turn down your best friend’s obligation proposal and you agree to raise the resulting spawn together. Platonically. Offer him a drink? High five?

“So. What are you supposed to do when you’re pregnant,” Matt asks. “I think I should probably learn. To help you.”

Foggy blinks.

“I actually have no idea,” he says.

They stare at each other. (Well, Foggy stares, Matt gets this tiny crease between his brows and continues looking where he was looking.)

“But… I’m pretty sure my mom has some books left over from when my sister was pregnant with her first…”

Matt’s eyes widen, then his face goes dead white.

“Have you told your mom?”

“No?” Foggy says. “Oh. Ha! Yeah! That’s right! Oh you’re coming with me buddy. Then _you_ get to tell Mama Nelson all about how I got knocked up out of wedlock. And I hope you’re ready, because she’s going to bring it up at every Thanksgiving and Christmas from now until eternity, and the offspring’s first word is going to be ‘put a ring in it.’”

“...that’s not a word, that’s a phrase,” Matt says, faintly.

“Shut up, Matt,” Foggy says.

“And I offered to marry you!” Matt says. Foggy rolls his eyes.

“Shut up, Matt.”

Matt opens his mouth to keep arguing, and Foggy can’t help but feel a sudden surge of affection for this ridiculous person. He smiles and squeezes Matt’s hand again, and Matt squeezes back.

  
Yeah. This is gonna be okay.


	9. Chapter 9

Foggy’s laying in bed the next morning, staring up at the ceiling, considering his to-do list for the day. So far he’s come up with:

  1. Get out of bed.
  2. Go out and see if Matt is still sleeping on the couch.
  3. Tell people he’s having a baby.
    1. Karen.
    2. His mother.
    3. Ugh, Marci. Better sooner than later.
    4. Beg his mother to tell Dad and Candace for him.
  4. Find a pregnancy doctor.
    1. Google what you’re supposed to call a pregnancy doctor.
    2. OB? Isn’t that what they’re called? Or is he thinking of something else?
  5. Buy… vitamins… and... things.
    1. Buy more ice cream.
    2. Ask the doctor about vitamins.



It’s a bit daunting. He has almost no emotional energy left after his conversation with Matt, so he can barely even consider telling other people. But he feels like he owes Karen an explanation, because she has his and Matt’s backs, and also he foresees needing her emotional support pretty soon here. She’s the only friend he has that knows about Daredevil who isn’t, well, Matt.

And of course he has to tell his mother. There’s still that little-kid part of him that is absolutely convinced that Mom has all the answers and she’ll be able to tell him exactly what to do. And as much as he jokes about her giving him crap about this, he knows that she’ll be there for him every step of the way, no questions asked. Also hopefully he can have her break the news to Candace and Dad for him. When the time is right. Twenty years from now?

Marci will absolutely give him shit, of course. But since she was the one who was kind enough to inform him that he was in love with Matt (he probably would have figured it out himself, eventually, definitely), she’s de facto become the one friend he can talk to about being in love with a hot Catholic idiot. Also the one regular friend-with-benefits where he didn’t feel like he was leading them on. So clearly she should know the new development, if only so that she can have the joy of mocking him relentlessly for getting accidentally knocked up by the one person he’s been “pathetically pining” for for years. Because Marci will always, always tell him like it is, and he loves her for it.

So then, all necessary, potentially productive conversations, with the people who know and care about him best. So all he has to do is get out of bed and get started. And see if Matt’s still out there.

Or maybe he’ll just stay in bed for just a few more minutes.

He considers the grayish ceiling above him. According to his clock it’s a little after 7. The sounds from the street are in full swing, the city alive and moving.

His hand creeps down to cover his stomach. It doesn’t feel any different. He thinks. Though apparently his body has changed enough for his scent to start to change. In a few months though it’ll be obvious to anyone walking by.

Foggy feels oddly vulnerable all of a sudden, like maybe he should have worn more than a t-shirt and boxers to bed. People will be able to tell this most personal, life-altering thing just by looking at him. And that’s even before the spawn shows up.

It’s already changed his life. Before, he and Matt would have barrelled through any sort of serious talk with the help of their friends Beer, Vodka, and Sometimes Tequila But Only If You Want to Regret Your Decisions. Last night their talk was completely sober. And he’s going to keep having _completely sober_ life-changing discussions for the next eight months.

Like, where is this kid going to live? Where is _Foggy_ going to live, with this kid? His apartment is the size of a shoebox. Are he and Matt going to have to work out some sort of weird visitation schedule, like they’re divorced dads? How much crap is his sister going to give him about that? Candace is never mean, but she’s retained her childish younger-sister glee in asking him uncomfortable questions even though they’re both adults now and she has kids of her own. His dad will probably just pat him on the shoulder and ask Foggy if he wants to move back in with him and his mom, which will be embarrassing enough now that he thinks about it.

Foggy covers his face with both hands and groans. His hands are sweaty and his face is warm, probably because his pulse started picking up right around when he thought the words ‘life-changing.’ Ugh. He has to stop thinking like this, and just get up and out the door. He needs to get moving and doing and stop worrying about things that won’t happen for months, that he really can’t predict or control.

He sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed before he can think about it again. He grabs his robe from the hook on the bedroom door and ties it tight around him. Not that it’ll make a practical difference to Matt, but Foggy’s still feeling oddly exposed with his early-morning realizations. He takes a deep breath and opens the door.

Matt is wearing his Daredevil pants and the shirt Foggy lent him to sleep in. Last night they had both been so wrung out that Foggy had offered him the couch mostly on reflex. Matt looks over his shoulder from where he’s standing at the little stove and smiles hesitantly.

“Hey. Found the eggs in your fridge. Thought I’d make some breakfast,” he says, right as the smell of grease and cooking eggs reaches Foggy.

Foggy makes it to the toilet, hallelujah. His stomach clenches again and again, seemingly convinced that the only way to purge the smell is to empty Foggy out top to bottom. Finally he’s left to blow his nose and breathe heavily, resting his head on the wall behind him.

Matt appears in the doorway to the tiny bathroom, looking sheepish. He scratches the back of his neck, other hand on his hip.

“Sorry, I didn’t think -”

“Don’t worry about it man,” Foggy interrupts, “This isn’t the first time. I’m just glad to finally know why this flu wouldn’t end. At least I can rest assured that morning sickness has to end at some point, right?”

“Right,” Matt says. His hand had frozen at ‘morning sickness.’

“It was a nice gesture,” Foggy offers. He doesn’t try to move yet, in case it sets off his stomach. He doesn’t really relish the thought of throwing up in front of Matt. Somehow this is different than the times he’s horked because of a hangover and Matt happened to be there.

“Right,” Matt says again, snorting. He lowers the hand so that he can cross his arms. He gives Foggy a wry smile. “The Matt Murdock Special - a nice gesture guaranteed to make you ill.”

“Shut up,” Foggy says, rolling his eyes. “It was a nice gesture. And now you can make another one and get me some toast and water instead. I’ll be out in a second.”

“...Sure thing,” Matt says, lingering for an extra moment. His flaring nostrils and tilted head are giving Foggy the sneaking suspicion that he’s going to have an overprotective alpha on his hands for a while. But he does leave the doorway, and Foggy uses the privacy to brush his teeth and rinse his face. He still needs a shower, but he’ll get to that once he’s more ready to face the world.

He exits the bathroom to see Matt at the couch with two plates and a water glass on the coffee table. He sits down next to him, not too close, not too far, and picks up his toast. Matt had, thankfully, not buttered it. Foggy takes a bite, ignoring the way Matt’s not-watching him.

“Thanks,” he says. He takes another bite, not sure what else to say, because, well, it’s dry toast. That he might end up throwing up later anyway. Matt just nods and takes a bite of his own. Foggy notes that his is also plain, and for some reason that fact makes a surge of warmth hit his chest. He turns back to his own plate, blinking.

“So I think I’m going to need to take the morning off,” he says. Matt nods again, chewing and finishing his bite.

“I thought so too. I can call Karen and let her know that we’ll need this morning’s appointments rescheduled, and I can change and get back here pretty quick,” Matt says, all-too-reasonable.

Suspicion confirmed.

“Matt,” Foggy says, also using his most reasonable talking-to-the-witness tone, “We have that follow-up appointment with Mrs. Mendoza’s building super, and you know how hard it’s been to nail him down for time to talk.”

Matt frowns down at his plate. “We can always talk to him later. He’s not going anywhere.”

“Yeah, but Mrs. Mendoza might have to if we can’t show that guy why he can’t evict her on bogus claims,” Foggy says. Matt doesn’t argue. “At least one of us needs to be in the office today. I’d go, but I’d like to start making calls this morning.”

“I’ll go in,” Matt says, to his plate. There’s a small crease between his brows.

“Just a few calls,” Foggy says. “I want to do some baby doctor research and see if I can set up an appointment. And… I want to tell Marci in person.”

Matt’s jaw clenches, then relaxes. “Right. That makes sense.” Foggy watches Matt’s brows close in on each other and decides to stop beating round the bush.

“Matt. It’s a few phone calls and one potential coffee shop. I’ll be perfectly fine,” he says. Matt’s head comes up.

“You’re going to leave the apartment?” he asks, hands clenching on his knees.

Foggy almost throws his hands up, but restrains himself.

“Yes, Matt. I am going to leave my apartment. And walk on the street all by myself. Like I’ve done my entire life,” Foggy says.

“But you weren’t pregnant before. It’s dangerous,” Matt says, by all evidence completely serious.

“So’s taking a shower,” Foggy says, “And I still plan to do that for the next eight months.”

For some reason that doesn’t seem to reassure Matt. His eyes just get wider.

“We can install bars and grip mats,” he says.

Foggy looks him dead in his stupid, earnest face.

“Matt, I want you to play back what you’ve just said.”

Matt pauses, lips compressed and brows a straight, worried line.

“But we can. And I don’t think your balance will be the same in a few months,” he says cautiously. His doofy hair and beseeching eyes are making him look exactly like a confused but determined labrador.

Foggy succumbs to temptation and covers his face with his hand.

“Matt. I appreciate that you’re worried about me and the spawn. And I get that you’re very hormonal right now,” he says, removing the hand so he can watch Matt’s face. “You just went through a crazy, drug-induced rut, and now I’m pregnant, and I’m sure that scent is hitting your hind-braid and helping it hijack the driver. But,” he says his voice lowering and going even calmer,

“I’m going to be very clear. I will continue to live my daily life. If a doctor or my mother says I shouldn’t do something, I’ll take it under consideration. Your support will be very appreciated, and I’m sure I’ll need your help for some things. But I will not be bubble-wrapped, or managed. Okay?”

“Okay,” Matt says, his eyes very wide. Foggy’s not sure what his body and tone are telling Matt, but apparently the message got through. “Sorry, Foggy.”

“It’s cool, man,” Foggy says, feeling awkward all of a sudden. He takes another bite of toast to cover it.

“I just…” Matt says, “I just want to know you’re okay. Is that okay?”

Matt’s hands are still clenched, his face a picture of conflicted worry. Foggy feels himself relenting. It’s not like Matt actually told him he couldn’t leave his apartment, and Matt’s not actually the kind of alpha who’d try to keep his mate barefoot and pregnant in the metaphorical kitchen. Foggy might have been projecting his worries just the tiniest bit.

“That is very okay,” he says. “How about… How about I text you when I get to the coffee shop. And when I’m heading back to the office.”

The look of relief on Matt’s face is overwhelming. Foggy feels a little humbled to realize the unintentional power he has over him now. It’s... strange.

“Okay,” Matt says. He reaches for his toast again. Foggy follows suit, strangely shaken.

“So. Uh. What do you think of our chances with Mrs. Mendoza’s super? Do you think we’ll have to chase it up to the building owners?” Foggy asks.

Matt looks almost grateful to take up the work conversation from there.

* * *

 Once they finish their breakfast, Matt stuffs his uniform into Foggy’s old black canvas backpack and steps out of the bathroom wearing a pair of Foggy’s old sweats. He does that thing again where he tilts his head and clearly scents the room, the equivalent to a hard stare from a sighted person, in Foggy’s opinion.

“I’ll be fine, Matt,” he says, projecting as much calm and assurance as he can muster. Matt opens his mouth, but, wisely, closes it.

“I’ll look forward to your texts,” he says after a moment, his voice a touch lower than normal. Foggy doesn’t comment, and Matt nods, then exits through the front door.

Foggy waits until he’s counted fifty one-thousands, then releases his breath. He waits another fifty more before he stands up from the couch. He sends a quick text to his mom, letting her know that he and Matt will be by for dinner later. She’ll only be working till four today, with Dad covering the store until close. Candace usually picks her sprogs up around six or seven, so they’ll have some time together later.

His mom sends back ‘ok luv u honey,’ which makes him smile and snort. He’s glad Candace had taken the bullet and gotten their parents on board with texting a few years ago, but he still can’t help but snerk at their text-speak.

He considers, then grimaces and arranges the pregnancy tests into a photogenic spiral. He sends the picture to Karen, as a friendly heads up for the Matt-mood that she’ll have to deal with today.

‘???!!!!!!!!!!!!’ she sends back, almost immediately.

‘Yes.’ he sends back. He stares down at his phone.

Matt is still his best friend. His parents and sister and Karen will, at worst, be _too_ supportive. He is still the captain of his ship, making the choices right for him. He hasn’t even gained any weight yet. Probably.

He dials Marci’s number.

It’s all going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't have posted this chapter without all of the encouragement from of kudos and comments and hits. I mean that completely sincerely. To all of the people who've done so or plan to: i love you. That is all.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This is not all going to be okay,” Marci says flatly, staring dead into Foggy’s eyes.

“This is not all going to be okay,” Marci says flatly, staring dead into Foggy’s eyes. She takes a long, loud, slurping drink out of her iced coffee, maintaining full eye contact. She releases the straw to add, “Seriously.”

She goes in for another drink, unblinking. Foggy can feel his own eyes watering, so he drops his gaze down to his half-full mug of hot chocolate. He had just gone through the whole story, leaving out the parts about Daredevil but opting to stick to the truth as much as possible otherwise. He’d tried to put as positive a spin on it as possible, even ending on the ‘So it’s all going to be okay’ mantra he’d been repeating to himself.

Marci is clearly not impressed by the attempt, nor with his mantra. Foggy hunkers down a little more in his seat and takes a drink of his cocoa. He’d wanted a comforting and relaxing drink, but now he’s wondering if he should have asked for some tranquilizers to go with it.

“First of all, I can’t believe you’re not trying to prosecute the person who, _hello_ , dosed Matt, _a blind guy._

“Second of all, I can _completely believe_ , but am still boggled by the fact that instead of calling a surrogate or getting him to a hospital, you thought to yourself, ‘I’m going to stay and offer my services, not tell him I’m grossly in love with him, and just pretend that this isn’t tearing my soft little beanie baby heart into a _thousand tiny pieces._ ’”

“I told you about that beanie baby collection in confidence, how dare you use that against me now,” Foggy says.

“And furthermore,” Marci says, stabbing her scary-long nail into the table, “I find it even more depressingly plausible that you _still_ haven’t confessed your tragic love, but I can still find it in my heart to be disappointed with you.”

“Seriously, you promised never to bring up Sgt. Beanie and his Baby Hearts Club Band ever again. You pinkie swore, you heartless shark,” Foggy continues.

Marci just glares right back at him and reaches into her purse. Foggy is somehow unsurprised to see her pull out an engraved, monagrammed silver flask, and see her unscrew it at this bright hour of the morning.

“This is not all going to be fine,” Marcie reiterates, “You were already a pining mess before he knocked you up. Now?” She raises one sculpted eyebrow. She also reaches over the table to tip her flask over Foggy’s mug, but he moves it to one side before she gets very far. She just shrugs and screws the top back on, then makes it disappear back into her bag.

Foggy doesn’t want to think about the fact that she probably only brought it out for him.

“One. We have no idea who dosed Matt, so there’s no point in trying to prosecute. And the bar we went to is probably going to get shut down all by itself anyway. So. No point.

“Two. Matt was refusing medical attention, and a surrogate. I did what seemed reasonable at the time, given the risk to his health.

“Three. My tragic love isn’t relevant to my friendship with Matt, had nothing to do with my decision to help him, and is still not relevant because he just wants to stay friends,” Foggy finishes. He punctuates this with a drink of his cocoa, and only somewhat desperately wishes that he’d let her pour whatever was in that flask.

“The fact that you can say any of that with a straight face is what makes me respect you as a lawyer,” Marci says, completely inflectionless. “And yet simultaneously gain a deeper understanding of the term ‘pants-on-head crazy.’” She reaches into her bag again and brings out the flask. Foggy moves his mug again, but apparently didn’t need to, as she just unscrews it and pours some suspiciously green liquid down the hatch. She maintains eye contact the entire time.

“You have dead eyes,” he tells her nicely, the way a friend would, “Like a lynx with blood on its mouth.”

Marci pats his hand and almost smiles, because she’s not immune to flattery.

“Tell me if I need to break his knees,” she says, putting the flask away.

“He’s blind, Marci. I think that's like, double illegal.”

“Foggy,” she says. She pats his hand again, gently. Foggy clears his throat and blinks his eyes a bit rapidly.

“Thanks, Marci.”

* * *

 Foggy texts Matt again as he’s leaving the coffee shop, letting him know that he’s on his way back to his apartment. Marci had caught him up on all of the Hot Lawyer Gossip(™) and then left him to finish his cocoa to go do whatever Krav MaYoga thing she does every week.

He settles down with his laptop on the couch and begins the disheartening search to see what fetus doctors are covered by his cheap-as-he-could-get health insurance. He had suffered through signing up through the Marketplace at the time, but is now grateful that he did. Based on the number of appointments he remembers his sister talking about, he highly doubts the penny jar at Nelson & Murdock would cover the cost.

He also, from the safety of his empty apartment and the sanctity of internet privacy, googles:

‘What do you call a baby doctor’

And,

‘How to be pregnant’

He’d vaguely remembered from Candace’s last kid her talking a lot about a ‘doolah’ and her ‘OB.’ He is abjectly grateful that he has the internet so that he doesn’t have to ask her or his mother what the fuck they were talking about yet and how to ask a clinic for one. He is still Not Ready for that conversation. He dutifully notes down ‘doula’ and ‘OB-GYN.’ And also makes a note to himself to buy more Ben & Jerry’s.

Then he changes his search terms from ‘How to be pregnant’ to ‘How to have a healthy baby,’ because all the search results for the first are all about how to _get_ pregnant, and that ship has sailed, is over the horizon, and isn’t coming back to port. The second search is more fruitful. He opens the most likely-looking articles (most of which are titled things like ‘10 Steps to a Healthy Pregnancy’ and ‘6 Keys to Preventing Complications’) and gets reading.

This, the research part, reminds him reassuringly of cramming for an exam or test in law school. Except that now the consequence of him sleeping through the lecture is that he might end up with a baby with two heads. He thinks. So, you know.

Once he’s identified that no, he’s no longer drinking, smoking, or doing heavy drugs, and that yes, he’s seeing a professional as soon as possible, he starts to update his list.

‘1. Ask fetus doctor/’OB-GYN’ about vitamins

  1. Maybe ask mom about those too
  2. Ask her for the pregnancy book
  3. Swear her to secrecy/prevent her from asking Matt to marry me (again)
  4. Eat better food


  * Except for necessary items (see: Cherry Garcia, pizza from Anthony’s, mom’s deep dish casserole, et al)’



Then he stares, transfixed, at the phrase ‘Begin doing pelvic floor exercises’ for a solid minute. He very calmly decides that he’s done with the research portion of the morning.

He starts making calls from his list of clinics to see who might be able to see him as soon as possible. He has to call a few places, but finally gets lucky at a smaller place within Hell’s Kitchen that can see him in two days.

Then he goes to buy more ice cream and a consolation cheeseburger for having to do terrible adult things for an entire morning.

* * *

As he enters the office, he realizes that he’d had some vague hope that he might be able to dodge Karen today, but apparently hope is for fools and the delusional. He’d texted Matt to let him know he was on his way, but Karen’s the one that catches him immediately after he walks in.

“Foggy,” she says, her big eyes faintly misty and entirely (ugh) genuine. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” he says walking past her to his office. She follows.

“How are you feeling? Matt said you had morning sickness earlier? Is that what that bug has been? Do you need anything?” She asks.

Foggy really, truly, cannot have this conversation with her right now. Which makes him feel like a dick. If there’s anyone who deserves to have this conversation (besides his mother), it’s her. For sticking by him and Matt and actually sounding like she cares about their future offspring and his current health.

But he can’t. Not and have the same conversation with his mother tonight.

“Karen,” he says, apologetic. He turns to face her, not sure how to say ‘kindly fuck off, person who cares about me.’ But there must be something about his face, because she stops in the doorway. She opens her mouth, then closes it.

“Do you want some water?” she asks.

“Yeah,” he says, grateful. She turns and walks towards their little kitchenette, revealing Matt hovering behind her.

He’s got his hands in his pockets, back slouched just a little, the very picture of ‘oh hey I just happened to be hanging out here outside your doorway, fancy meeting you here.’ Except he is also clearly inhaling, head tilted slightly, in an equally unsubtle attempt to check in on Foggy, like something terrible might have happened in the _four hours_ since they saw each other last. Or the ten minutes since he last texted him.

Foggy just gives him an unimpressed look and assumes his breath or whatever will clue him in. Matt looks like he’s about to say something, but is interrupted by Karen walking back over with a Dixie cup and a soft, dewy smile.

“So. Are you - excited?” she asks, placing the cup on his desk and leaning her hip up against it. He takes a sip of the water and looks down at his hands.

“Um. Yeah. I guess,” he says. He glances back up to see a small furrow start between her brows, and quickly continues, “But uh, not as excited as Matt is to tell Mama Nelson.”

That thought, and the sudden paling of Matt’s face, manage to give him an abrupt boost in cheerfulness. Enough so that he can give Matt a truly evil grin.

Karen looks between them, biting her lip in a flimsy attempt to hide her smile.

“Ha. Yeah. Looking forward to it,” Matt says.

“But that’s not until later today,” Foggy says, magnanimously. Karen's lips twitch.

“Right,” she says.

Matt gets that thin line on his forehead that says he can tell they’re ganging up on him but he can’t think of a good comeback.

“Anyway,” Foggy says, “I want to get some work in before we head over there. What did I miss?”

Karen kindly drops the line of questioning and brings him up to speed on their current cases. Not much has happened, which is good because he can relax some of his guilt for not being here, but also bad because he’s started to get a clench in his gut every time he thinks about money and how they make none.

Before she goes back to her desk, Karen takes just a step closer, eyes flicking over Foggy’s face. Then she just gives him a crooked smile and a gentle squeeze on his shoulder before walking away.

Foggy clears his throat and blinks the speck out of his eye, pulling open a drawer.

* * *

He quickly discovers that Matt, in his - brief, very brief - absence, had attempted to ‘help’ him by taking all the files from his desk. When Foggy asks him in exasperation what he was thinking, Matt just mumbles something about ‘taking care’ and ‘work too hard.’

He gives Matt a look, but forgoes any comment out of the kindness of his heart. Matt’s already blushing, and Foggy already promised that he won’t hold his friend’s own biology against him.

Foggy can clearly hear Karen snicker behind him as he successfully retrieves the files he’d been working on.

* * *

Karen who, by the way, wordlessly keeps his Dixie cup full the entire afternoon. He leaves it untouched for a full half hour after two p.m. as a controlled experiment, and her eyebrows start coming together over her concerned doe eyes almost immediately.

So you know, pot. Kettle.

* * *

He drinks the water though. And eats the packet of crackers Matt brings him. Because apparently he is weak and liable to fold like cheap suit when presented with their combined concerned looks.

* * *

At five o’clock, Foggy spends approximately 7 minutes trying not to hyperventilate as he stares blankly at his office wall and simultaneously ignores the worried alpha and omega in the other room.

He manages to successfully shove all of the half-formed panic down into his stomach where it will hopefully not make him an ulcer, and then he and Matt head over to his parents’ place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hugs and kisses to all of you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews are of course very welcome, as is constructive criticism. I've never written in this fandom before, so please do feel free to let me know if I'm off in my characterizations or details. 
> 
> NOTE: I will be adding all spoiler tags to the main tag listing as I add the chapters that make them relevant. If you don't want to be spoiled right now but would like the heads up, you can watch out for those. 
> 
> Otherwise: 
> 
> SPOILER TAGS BELOW! CAUTION ALL YE WHO ENTER!
> 
> The rating will go up to Explicit. 
> 
> There will be porns, may you rejoice. 
> 
> The big one: mpreg. Some people hate it, some people love it, either way I'm confident that either you already know or you can figure it out for yourself. As always, just remember that Your Kink is Not My Kink But That's Okay, and also YMMV. 
> 
> Blood and gore: probably no more than in the show itself, but just so you're aware. The rating will go up partly due to Daredevil kicking criminal's butts, and not being a very nice guy while doing so. I will not be portraying domestic violence or brutality in this fic, but some readers do find that the inherent dubcon of ABO or 'drugs made them do it' makes them uncomfortable. Again, YMMV. 
> 
> Thank you for flying Air Kira, and I hope you enjoyed the fic!


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